Falling Skies
by Known Unknowns
Summary: S9 AU: The Gates of Heaven have been slammed shut, and thousands of fallen angels, both good and evil, walk among mankind. The trials are quickly eating away at Sam, Castiel has been robbed of his Grace, Crowley is at his weakest, and Dean is left carrying a heavy burden. Will they be able to save the world once more, or is this their last stand? Eventual Dean/Cas.
1. The Downfall of Us All

_**Falling Skies**_

**Chapter 1: The Downfall of Us All**

_A/N: This picks up directly after 8x23. Warnings wise, nothing major. There'll be Destiel later in the fic (it's set to be quite long) but that's about it. Anywho, I hope you all enjoy._

* * *

"The angels... they're falling."

And so they were. Thin beams of shining light, descending like meteors from the stormy black clouds that hung in the overcast sky. It was both beautiful and frightening, and Sam didn't know what the hell it meant.

Sam felt a shudder arc through his chest, and he sagged against Dean. Even though he hadn't gone through with the final trial of rendering Crowley mortal, he still felt as though he might die. His blood _burned_, like his very essence was being incinerated from the inside out. His head throbbed in a continuous beat with his heart, and he felt as though his limbs were made of Jell-o. His eyes blurred with tears of agony as his older brother supported him, guiding him towards the back seat of the Impala, where he had him lay down on the sleek leather interior.

"Sammy?" Dean's hand patted his cheek, and he tried to focus in on his brother as best as he could. "Sam, just stay with me, okay? We're gonna get you help, I promise. Everything's going to be fine."

"You d-don't know that," Sam managed, punctuating his statement with a haggard cough, causing a trickle of blood to leak down his chin. "You can't." He grabbed Dean's sleeve, his grip white knuckled. He didn't know why he was doing it, but knowing that Dean was there made everything in his slowly fading world just a little more clear.

"I can," Dean insisted, removing Sam's from his arm and squeezing it tight in his own. "I won't let anything happen to you." Dean squeezed his hand once more before releasing it and making his way towards the driver's seat. Before he could slide in, however, Sam remembered that they had a prisoner inside of the dilapidated church.

_"You, me - we all deserve to be loved._ _I_ _deserve to be loved! I just want to be loved..."_

"Crowley," Sam choked, half-sitting up before collapsing back against the seat. "Go get Crowley. We can't leave him there."

"Like hell we can't!" Dean responded, turning to give Sam an incredulous look. "We're not dragging that douche bag along for the ride, Sam. You didn't complete the trial - not that I'm complaining, but he's still the King of Hell. He's not our buddy."

"He's g-got my blood inside of him!" Sam protested, voice trembling. "You didn't see him in there, Dean... part of him is human, part of him is... it's _me_. He's my responsibility." He knew he wasn't making much sense, but he had to convince Dean to bring Crowley with them. His foggy mind couldn't fully grasp why, but it had to done.

"You're not responsible for his demon ass!"

"Dean, please," he pleaded weakly. He didn't know why it suddenly mattered, but it did. As long as he had a say, Crowley was coming with them. "Please, just go back and get him."

Dean looked at Sam for a long moment, and Sam was half-sure that his brother would deny his request, but finally, Dean relented with a stiff nod, slamming the driver's side door shut before heading back towards the church. Sam let out a pent up breath that he didn't know he'd been holding and let himself fade into blissful darkness.

* * *

If ever there was a time to hate the Winchesters, it was now. Unfortunately, he only had so much malice within him, and all of it was currently directed at himself, rendering him unable to fantasize about force-feeding the denim-clad nightmares their own innards.

Guilt. Remorse. Sorrow. Self-loathing. Pain - pain on a level he'd never experienced in the entirety of his long life, even after having been tortured by Hell's former best. He felt like someone had poured hot lead into his chest. His eyes were stinging hotly, and he felt tear tracks burning their way down his cheeks, irritating his bruised and lacerated skin from where Abaddon had beaten him.

Hundreds of faces flashed through his mind. Men. Women. Children. Demons. Humans. Monsters. All dead by his hand, most of them tortured by his hand as well. Some were as sinful as he was, but some were innocent. Some were so young that they couldn't think well enough to do wrong.

He'd listened to people's screams and reveled in it. He'd bathed in the blood of his enemies when he took Hell for himself, walked on their corpses with a smile on his face. He'd laughed as bodies writhed under flames and blades alike. He'd stolen, murdered, tortured, _raped_ - he felt bile rise in his throat at the thought - he'd done whatever benefited him, no matter the cost to others.

At the time, he'd felt nothing other than cold, sadistic satisfaction at his deeds. He cared for nothing but power and possession and the rush they provided. The ends justified the means after all, didn't they? As long as he got what he desired, all those trampled on the way were just casualties of a greater good - his own greater good, that is.

He was a demon. Icy. Unfeeling. Ruthless. _Perfect_. And now this.

The spectacular remorse that gripped him was some of the worst torture he had ever experienced, and he'd suffered in Hell for the equivalent of centuries after the hounds had dragged him down. The agony inside of him that made him clench his hands so tightly that his fingernails were creating deep divots that drew blood, that made him feel like he was suffocating, dying from the inside out, like he was going to throw up everything inside of him - that was torture. Far more potent than any tool he'd every used.

Holy mother of sin, the things he'd _done..._

"Time to go."

Crowley jumped as best as he could in the confines of the chair, jerking his head up to meet the troubled green eyes of Dean Winchester. He had been so utterly lost in the sea of guilt and misery that had swept over him that he hadn't even registered his presence in the room. He immediately felt his cheeks flush in embarrassment, fully aware of how pathetic he must look.

"Go?" he repeated hoarsely. He had dimly overheard the boys' conversation as to whether to complete the third trial and make him completely mortal, but had been too absorbed in himself to participate. But why would they free him? Why not just leave him here to rot for eternity?

Dean leaned down and inserted a small key into the handcuffs inscribed with trapping sigils that bound him to the chair. He freed him from his restraints and stepping back, scuffing his shoe along one of the spray paint lines just enough so that he would be able to step out of the devil's trap.

"We're leaving. You're coming with us," Dean elaborated gruffly, crossing his arms and waiting for Crowley to rise. Crowley looked down at his hands, flexing them experimentally. He focused his energies to his right palm, with the intent to start a roaring flame as a test of his powers. A dull ember flickered for a moment, then burnt out.

"Seven-hundred and fifty years," he whispered, completely to himself. Humanity. It was the worst curse that the Winchesters could have laid upon him, and yet he couldn't even find it in himself to try to kill them for it. He didn't want to kill anyone, anymore. He was so sick of killing...

"What?" Dean asked, brows furrowing in annoyed confusion.

"It took seven-hundred and fifty years - seventy five months in Hell - for my humanity to be erased, to become a demon. In eight hours, your Moose put it back," he explained in a monotone, still staring down at his hands, completely sodden in his misery.

"Yeah, well, what can I say. We defy expectations. Now get it in gear, we need to find Cas, and Sam's hell-bent on you coming with us." He tugged hard on the sleeve of Crowley's suit jacket, dragging him up and out of the chair. Crowley stood on weak legs, wobbling slightly. He suddenly hurt much more. Being a demon, his pain threshold was incredibly high. But now, his back ached from the hours of imprisonment in the chair. His neck smarted from the continuous injections he'd received from the younger Winchester, and his body throbbed from his beating from Abaddon, Dean, and Sam, respectively, not that he hadn't deserved it with the last two.

Wait a minute. Had he just thought that he deserved pain? Masochism was most certainly not one of his many vices. Dean snapped his fingers in front of his face.

"Come on!" he said loudly. "Sammy's in a bad way, and the friggin' sky's falling and, and..." his voice faltered for a moment. "I don't have time for this crap right now, Crowley!" The older Winchester seemed incredibly distressed.

He walked carefully past Dean and out of the devil's trap, making his way slowly to the door with the hunter watching him like a hawk. He looked over at Dean, and suddenly the tears that had not stopped leaking from his eyes came faster as he remembered all of the things he had done to the Winchesters and the people they cared about.

_"What's the line? Saving people, hunting things - the family business. Well, I think the people you save, they're how you justify your pathetic little lives. The alcoholism, the collateral damage, the pain you've caused... the one thing that lets you sleep at night, the one thing is knowing that these folks are still out there, happy and healthy, all because of you, you great, big, bloody heroes! And I'm going to rip it apart, piece by piece. Because I can. Because you can't stop me. And because when I'm done, what will you have left?"_

Sam had been begging for him to stop, chanting a steady stream of 'no's under his breath as Crowley's hex-bag killed Sarah. Crowley had just smirked to himself, knowing that he'd found his trump card, listening to the desperate pleas over the phone with dark satisfaction.

Castiel came to the forefront of his thoughts as well. He looked down at his hands, almost positive he would see blood there. Castiel's screams echoed through his mind, along with the squelching sound he'd heard while rummaging around inside the angel's internal organs in a hunt for the tablet. Castiel's whimpers as he'd withdrawn his hand, letting out a victorious laugh as he looked over his blood soaked prize. All of this was on top of trying to turn Castiel against the only people in the world who gave a damn about him several years beforehand.

He suddenly realized that Castiel was two up on him. Being alone had never bothered him, not once. Occasionally it had brought on a degree of boredom, especially after Castiel had dissolved their partnership and he no longer had the source of banter and death threats, but he had never once felt lonely. But now, even with the Winchester beside him, he felt more alone than he thought possible. He had called for his legions when he'd been captured by Sam and Dean, and what did he get? Beaten to a bloody pulp by Abaddon, that's what. Where was the loyalty? Where was the power? Where was _his_ power?

He had all of the souls of the damned behind him, and he'd never felt weaker.

Together, Crowley and Dean stepped out of the confines of the little church and out into the blustering wind. Crowley looked up, and was startled to see what appeared to be meteors cascading from the sky.

"What...?"

"Angels," Dean answered bluntly.

"The angels are falling?" Crowley asked, eyes widening. "How?"

"The scribe, Metatron. He tricked Cas into helping him with a spell that kicked all of the angels out of Heaven. Now they're coming down to Earth." Crowley shook his head in slight awe. There were thousands of them, all raining from the sky. The Gates of Heaven had been slammed shut...

"Wonders never cease," he whispered, almost entirely to himself.

Dean made his way towards the car. Crowley looked away from the sky above and sighed heavily, wiping at his face, which caused blood and tears to smear on his sleeve. He was going to need a new suit. He'd be damned before he let himself continue crying like an infant in front of Dean Winchester, of all people. He tried to center himself as best as he could before tailing after the hunter.

Soon, he found himself in the passenger seat of the Impala as Dean roared down the dirt road that led away from the church and along Lake Erie. The small church had been in Pennsylvania, apparently, near the peninsula.

As they began their trip to God only knew where, Crowley turned around in his seat to look at Sam, who was curled up on his side, completely unconscious but looking rather the worse for wear. He was blindsided by a strange emotion hitting him. After struggling for a few moments to identify it, he realized he was worried about Sam. Concerned, even.

"Is he all right?" he found himself asking in a quiet tone, much softer than he was accustomed to. Dean looked at him like he was completely and utterly insane.

"Why the hell do you care?"

"Humor me," Crowley growled, glaring at the Winchester. "Is. He. Alright."

"No, no he's not," Dean snapped. "This last trial nearly killed him, and I..." Dean's jaw tightened, and Crowley recognized the expression. The young man was holding back tears at the thought of his little brother almost dying. Again. You'd think the Winchesters would've gotten used to each other dying, by now.

"You're not sure if he'll recover," Crowley surmised. "Where's your angel?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out," Dean said. "And it doesn't matter, Cas can't help him. He told us right before you _killed Meg_-" The emphasis on these words was not lost on Crowley. "-that Sam's hurting in ways that even Cas can't mojo away."

Crowley's stomach twisted in a painful knot at the thought of Meg. Demon she might have been, but she was curiously different - she was bad, there was no questioning it, there was no such thing as a good demon, but Meg had the _potential_ for good. She was capable of it, which was far more than he could say for himself.

He remembered the endless torture sessions with Meg. The unspeakable acts that hadn't seemed unspeakable at all at the time. He remembered beating on her mercilessly, relentlessly, a constant source of entertainment. His little demon whore.

He remembered the look in her eyes when he stabbed her, ending her life.

He promptly rolled down the Impala's window and leaned out of it, vomiting pure stomach acid onto the road, having not eaten anything in... well, quite a number of years. He couldn't recall how long. After he finished retching, he rolled the window back up and sagged back against his seat, fighting the heat in his eyes back with all he had.

"You're not doing so hot," Dean observed casually, eyes fixed firmly on the road, seeming nonplussed by his state of disrepair. Crowley ran a hand through his hair, gulping as he closed his eyes and took deep, steady breaths. "How far did Sam's blood go, anyway? You all feelings and rainbows now?"

"Feelings... emotions," he said in a strained voice. "Yes. I have them now. Far too many of them."

"Welcome to humanity, Crowley," Dean said, seemingly terribly satisfied with his predicament. Crowley just sighed, leaning his head against the cool glass of the Impala's window. His eyelids seemed unusually heavy - was he tired? He hadn't been tired in almost four hundred years. How strange.

Before he knew it, he had drifted off to sleep, the purr of the Impala's engine and the sound of the brothers' breathing in the almost silent car proving to be somewhat soothing.

* * *

Castiel realized that for the first time in his existence, he heard nothing. Silence. Even when he'd shut off the angel radio as Dean called it, there had still been a murmur in the back of his mind. Now, there were no whispers. He could no longer hear the song of the Heavenly Host. He was no longer connected to the other angels.

The silence frightened him.

Castiel walked through the woods for an indeterminable amount of, the crunch of his footsteps on the leafy forest floor his only company. He walked slowly, head bent up to the sky to watch the falling stars that were his brothers and sisters. He wondered if they would lose their Grace when the gates of Heaven closed. Lose their Grace, just like him. Of course he didn't lose his, so much as it had been forcibly taken from him.

Even though Metatron had healed his throat, it still throbbed, and he still remembered the feel of the angel blade biting into his skin. Most of all, the memory of his Grace leaking out of him, losing his powers, losing what made him an angel of the Lord was burned into his mind. He had lost everything that he was, everything that he had ever been.

He was _human_. Not just powerless like he had been rendered shortly before Sam had thrown himself into the Cage. No, he was completely and utterly _human_. He was a human who couldn't spread out his awareness to find out where he was, to find out where Sam and Dean were. He couldn't heal with the touch of his fingers, as he found out when he tried to heal a scratch he had received while walking through the forest. He couldn't fly, because he had been horrified to find that his wings were simply _gone, _gone as if they had never been there at all. The spots where they had once been ached horribly.

He was human. He was powerless.

After a time, the angels stopped falling, and the steadily darkening sky was still and calm. He stopped craning his neck and let his eyes fix in front of him. In the distance, he saw lights, and he heard the rush of cars racing by. Hopefully, he would be able to find a payphone and contact Dean. He made his way there, shivering slightly and pulling his trench coat tighter around him. For spring, it was a chilly evening.

The source of the lights came into view. A large rest stop splayed out in front of him, the kind that tour busses and tourists would stop at, the type that were large and clean and had a gift shop along with several different restaurants. Weaving through the trees and down a slope, he made his way onto the pavement of the parking lot and then into the rest stop itself.

An interactive map on the wall informed him that he was about fifteen miles south of a city called Sandusky. He was in Ohio. He had no clue why he had been dropped there, of all places, but so be it. He managed to located a line of several payphones nearby, and he asked a portly older woman if he could borrow some change. She smiled at him, said that he reminded her of her grandson, then promptly gave him a dollar.

He punched in Dean's number and waited for the hunter to pick up his phone.


	2. Locked Out of Heaven

**Chapter 2 - Locked Out of Heaven**

_A/N: A big thank you to twolittlewords, robby1925, and Darth Zannah for their reviews!_

* * *

Dean's phone rang in his pocket, and he quickly extricated it. He didn't recognize the number, but he hoped beyond hope that it would be Cas. He picked up, putting the phone to his ear as rain began to fall in thick droplets against the Impala's windshield.

"Hello?" he asked quietly, so as not to rouse Crowley, who was dozing somewhat peacefully in his seat, head lolled to the side. Seeing the demon king sleep was a trip, to say the least. It was strange seeing Crowley look so... vulnerable? That was the only word he could think to use. He wasn't worried about waking Sam, whom he was sure was thoroughly unconscious.

"Dean." He let out a deep sigh of relief when he heard the familiar gravelly voice on the other end.

"Cas, thank God," he said. "Where are you, man?"

"A truck stop ten miles south of Sandusky, Ohio, on Interstate 40. I..." Castiel trailed off before falling silent.

"Cas?" Dean called his name.

"Did you see the sky?" he asked, the angel's voice so soft that he almost couldn't hear it at all. "Did you see them fall?"

"Yeah," Dean responded. "Yeah, I saw Cas. Are you okay?"

"No. Far from it. I cannot speak for the other angels, but... I've lost my Grace, Dean. No, that's wrong... I didn't lose it, it was stolen from me. Stolen by Metatron."

"That bastard stole your mojo? For what reason?"

"For this. My Grace was the last ingredient of the spell that he needed. He's slammed shut the gates of Heaven. Now, there are thousands of us... thousands of _them_," he corrected, saying the word like a curse. "All walking the Earth, walking amongst men."

"Did they have their Grace taken, too? Are they mortal now?" Dean asked, panic slowly rising in his chest at the consequences of Metatron's actions.

"I don't know!" Castiel responded tightly. "I don't know anything! My awareness, it's... I can't see, I can't understand what's happening except for what's right in front of me."

Dean sighed, a rise of compassion for Castiel hitting him hard. Cas had lost one of the things that made him who he was. He couldn't imagine how the angel... ex-angel... was feeling at the moment, but he knew from the stress and misery in Cas' voice that he felt like crap.

He and Cas' friendship had been rocky for years now, and he'd begun to wonder if they could ever be what they were before he betrayed them and opened Purgatory, but he realized now that all the mistakes, the baggage, the resentment, it could be set to the side, at least for now. Because Cas was hurting. Because Cas needed him, and Dean would be damned before he let Castiel down the same way the angel tended to let him down.

"Cas, it's going to be alright, okay?" he said, using the same soothing tone he used with Sam. "I'm coming to get you." There was a long silence on the other end, so long that Dean was about to ask if Cas was still there.

"Please hurry," he said, and he'd never heard the Angel of Thursday sound so small.

* * *

_Fergus leaned on the shovel, wiping the sweat from where it had gathered under his hairline. He sighed, looking down at the small wooden cross he had stuck into the freshly dug earth over his father's grave. Into the cross he'd carved the name 'Camdyn MacLeod'. Dysentery. What a bloody stupid thing to die of. And now, he was alone. His father was dead, and his mother was a waif who could barely move, bound to her bed by the curse that Daityas had laid on her, forever trapped inside the horrors of her own mind._

_He was alone. He would be left to take care of his four younger siblings and his dying mother, left to run the family business, being the sole authority figure and breadwinner of a family that was too much for him to handle. He was only seventeen, for the love of God! How was he to handle this by himself?_

_"Fergus?" he heard a high voice squeak from behind him. He turned to see his six year old sister, in her little white dress, looking up at him with big brown eyes the same shade as his own. He sighed deeply, kneeling down on one knee so he could look the diminutive girl in the eye._

_"I thought I told you to stay inside, Rose," he said sternly. She frowned up at him._

_"I wanted to come see father."_

_"Yes. Well..." Fergus glanced back at the grave marker. "You can't see him now, Rosie. He's... he passed on. You know what that means, don't you?" Rose's lip trembled slightly, looking as though she was about to cry._

_"Hey, hey," he cupped her cheek, brushing her tears away with a thumb before tucking a stray lock of light brown hair behind her ear. "It'll be alright. It'll all be fine."_

_"Promise?" she whimpered, the tears continuing to stream down her cheeks as she looked past him and her eyes fixed on the grave._

_"I promise, Rosie," he said quietly, pulling her into a tight hug, stroking the back of her hair lightly. "I promise."_

A loud car horn beeped, and Crowley jumped, eyes opening in a flash and his heart thudding as he blearily tried to assess his surroundings. This was not something he was used to, he wasn't used to waking up, to those few moments that you didn't have any clarity.

He looked over to his left, and saw Dean's face illuminated by the headlights of passing cars. In the rearview mirror, he saw a still unconscious Sam curled up in the fetal position. The memories came rushing back, and he suddenly understood the relevance of the dream he had just had.

Apparently, with his humanity, memories of his mortal life would start coming back to him. He grimaced. This was not something he was looking forward to. His torture in Hell had been enough to erase almost every part of his human life. He honestly only knew the barest details of the man that was Fergus Roderick MacLeod - he was a two-bit tailor from Canisbay who sold his soul for three extra inches of naughty bits. He also knew that he had a son. He remembered vaguely not getting along well with the smarmy bastard, but other than that, he couldn't recall much.

And yet, now he remembered a sister, and the father he had apparently buried in a lonely cemetery on a cold spring evening centuries ago. He shuddered slightly at the emotion that swelled in his chest that he was having quite a bit of trouble making sense of. It'd been so long since he felt anything that he wasn't much of an expert at discerning one emotion from another.

"What's up with you?" Dean asked, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye.

"It's nothing," Crowley replied as evenly as he could. He cleared his throat, looking out the window again. It was night time. They appeared to be on a main highway, as the side of the road was dotted with restaurants, road stops, and large billboards.

"Right," Dean said dubiously. "I'm sure you don't feel like shit at all right now. Totally fine."

"Why the bloody hell does it matter to you, Squirrel?" he retorted, temper flaring.

"Let's call it morbid curiosity."

Crowley debated as to whether to tell Dean what he had dreamed, not wanting to reveal his weakness any further, but his mind flashed back to when Dean had come to unchain him at the church and realized that there was no way he could possibly appear more pathetic than _that_. "My past," he finally answered. "It's starting to come back."

"Back when you were Fergus MacLeod?"

"Yes," he answered quietly. Dean looked at him then, frowning. "What? No smart comment?"

"I'm just wondering what you were like before you turned into a dick bag demon," Dean told him truthfully.

"That makes two of us. Where the hell are we, anyways?"

"Heading towards Sandusky," Dean informed him. "We're picking up Cas."

"Found your fallen angel, did you? How's Feathers holding up?" Crowley was very curious as to the state of the fallen angels. If they had all maintained their Grace, well, he and the rest of the demons were in deep trouble, especially with him in such a weakened state as he was.

Dean drummed his fingers worriedly on the wheel. Crowley could read the tension all over the older Winchester's face. "I don't know. We'll find out soon, we're almost there."

As Dean said, a few minutes later, he pulled the Impala off into a parking lot outside of a large rest stop on the side of the interstate. When they parked, Dean looked at Crowley warily, as if wondering what to do with him.

"You can leave me here," Crowley said, rolling his eyes. "What, do you think I'm going to axe your moose the minute you look away? You seem to forget my instinct for self-preservation. I'm weak. Pissing off big brother would not be in my best interest at the moment." Dean didn't seem convinced by his reasoning. "Lock me in the trunk if it'll turn you on, I just don't see the need for it."

Dean shook his head. "No way. I'm not letting you out of my sight. Come on." Dean unlocked the doors and got out of the Impala, waiting for Crowley to do the same. Crowley let out a heavy sigh before stepping out of the car, slamming the door and throwing a dirty look towards Dean. Not that he could blame him for the distrust, of course - anyone who had a modicum of intelligence knew not to trust him, but it was annoying nonetheless.

Dean locked the car behind him, throwing a worried glance at Sam. "He'll be fine," Crowley said as he waited for him by the trunk of the car. Dean seemed caught off guard by the reassurance. Crowley himself didn't know why he'd said it. It had just seemed like the proper thing to say. _Bollocks. When have I ever cared about proper? _Dean, thankfully, chose not to comment, instead making his way towards the glass front doors of the rest stop. Crowley followed close behind, not wanting the older Winchester to throw a tantrum thinking that he was going to make a break for it. He wasn't a moron. He needed time to recover from the injections courtesy of Sam. Time to see if he would even regain his powers, and to adjust to the stunningly human qualities that were starting to haunt him.

Would he even be able to rule Hell when all of this was said and done? He was worried that he could no longer sense his connection to the realm of the damned, which had been a tendril of energy in the back of his consciousness since he'd taken over Hell. It was gone now, and he didn't know whether that was because of his weakened powers or because of the humanity that he was now cursed with.

The bright fluorescent lights inside of the rest stop hit his eyes, and he held up an arm to block it out with a groan. Thanks to the horrible migraine working its way through his head, he was incredibly photosensitive at the moment. Dean paid him no heed, making his way to a line of payphones on the opposite end of the establishment, in between a tacky gift shop with the word 'Ohio' written on every visible surface (what was so bloody brilliant about Ohio, of all places?) and a Starbucks.

That's when he saw his favorite fallen angel, back against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest, head resting on his knees, looking positively forlorn. "Cas!" Dean called, picking up his pace until he was stooping in front of his friend. "Cas, are you okay?"

Castiel lifted his head slightly to look at Dean, and Crowley was shocked to see tears in the angel's eyes.

* * *

Perhaps it was some kind of sick cosmic karma that the time he wanted to teleport away from where he was more than anything in the world, he was unable to do so. The four and a half hours he spent waiting for Dean were some of the longest of his life. He had sat there on the floor, hugging his knees, avoiding the eyes of the people who threw him strange looks as they passed by.

He tried all of his powers. He tried to use his real voice. At one point, he even attempted to leave his vessel and take on his true form. All of these attempts were fruitless. Part of him knew that his Grace was completely gone, but another part of him kept desperately trying to deny that fact. He was alone and weak.

He felt hotness burning in his eyes. He didn't know what it was until he felt a drop of liquid trail down his cheek. He was crying. He didn't bother to wipe away his tears or even try to hide them, though he had his head bent. He sat there, letting the tears fall as his millennium old mind tried to cope with the changes, until he heard the blissful sound of Dean calling his name.

He looked up just in time to see the hunter stooping down in front of him. He felt Dean's hand land on his shoulder. Castiel stared into the dark green depths of Dean's eyes, biting the inside of his lip in an attempt to gather himself. "Hello, Dean," he said, his voice sounding even more broken than he felt.

"Come on, let's get you out of here," Dean said, helping Castiel to his feet, hand on his shoulder the entire time. He looked at Dean, and he didn't know where Dean was taking him, and why somewhere else would be any better, but for some reason he found himself putting inexplicable trust in Dean. Dean would make things better, as better as he could. He'd come to depend on the man far too much. Guiding hand still on his shoulder, they started walking toward the exit.

And that was when he saw Crowley. He froze, stopping dead in his tracks. "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, darling. It's been a Dark Age," Crowley responded in what he recognized as an attempt to pull of his usual swagger. However, with the state the demon king was currently in, it failed miserably. Dark circles hung under his eyes, dark eyes looking weary and blood shot. He had purplish-blue bruising all over the left side of his face, with a laceration over his right eye. His lip was busted open as well, with dried blood caking much of his face. His shoulders were slumped and he was dragging in breaths unevenly. His skin tone was also quite pale.

Castiel immediately grew concerned. Crowley looked _human_. Sam hadn't gone through with the final trial, had he? "Did Sam complete the injections?" he asked worriedly, looking at Dean, who was standing slightly behind him. Dean shook his head, and Castiel felt a swoop of relief. "Then why does he appear so..."

"It's been a long day," Crowley answered for Dean. "Moose is still breathing and I'm still king. Don't worry your little head about it."

"He's still Crowley," Dean elaborated further. "His heart just isn't three sizes too small anymore, I guess. And Sam says that Crowley's 'his responsibility' now, so he's tagging along."

"I wasn't aware his vessel had a heart condition."

"It's a saying," Dean sighed, and he put light pressure on his shoulder to encourage him to move forward. Crowley fell into step beside him, causing Castiel to tense up significantly. The last time he had run into the King of Hell, Crowley's hand had ended up elbow deep in his innards. It wasn't a pleasant memory, and he was still recovering from the gut shot issued to him by the demon. "Means Crowley's got feelings now."

"Human emotions?" Castiel asked, turning to examine Crowley.

"How about we focus on your instability instead of my own?" Crowley asked, arching an indifferent eyebrow at him. "What's with the waterworks?"

Castiel swiped the sleeve of his trench coat across his eyes. "The loss of my Grace seems to have made me more emotionally aware," he answered as they stepped out into the cool night air. He shivered, an unusual feeling for him, since he was previously immune to temperature changes.

"Cas, you had emotions before," Dean said, seeming slightly puzzled as they made their way across the parking lot. Castiel spotted the Impala.

"Yes, but I have never felt everything so... sharply. It was more subdued before... but now, now it's like something is constricting my chest... I feel broken," he explained as best as he could.

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but then closed his mouth and pursed his lips, seeming unsure of what to do or say. Dean opened the door of the Impala for him. "You're going to have to crowd in with Sammy, he's kind of... he's..." the Winchester swallowed and looked down at his ailing brother, jaw tight. Cas could see that Sam was thoroughly unconscious. Even though Sam didn't complete the trials, he knew that they must have taken a strong toll on him. Castiel slid in by Sam's feet, and Crowley and Dean returned to the front and passenger seats.

"I'm sorry, Dean," Castiel whispered before Dean had a chance to start the engine. He looked him in the rear view mirror, brow furrowed in confusion. "I'm sorry for everything I've done since Lucifer was defeated. I'm sorry I can't help Sam. I'm sorry I can't help you. I'm sorry that I'm powerless. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." He pinched his eyes shut, and a tear fell from Castiel's eye. The angel leaned his head against the window, his body shaking. He let his eyes stay closed. He didn't want to see the world right now.


	3. Like the Angel

**Chapter 3 - Like the Angel**

_A/N: I'd like to thank twolittlewords, LoveOTHandTVD, and Queen of the Crossroads for their reviews! Also, I know I've been doing a lot of Crowley and Castiel POV now (because they're both dealing with some crazy changes) but as the story goes on, it'll be pretty evenly split between Dean, Sam, Cas and Crowley. And one final note - I've taken the two lost years into account, so this story takes place in 2015, the year that season nine should technically be set in, even though TPTB have just ignored the two time jumps._

* * *

Dean looked up the nearest hotel on his phone, and fifteen minutes after picking up Castiel, he was parking the Impala in the parking lot of a Comfort Inn alongside the interstate. As Dean shut off the car, Crowley turned to look at Sam, somewhat worried about whether they would be able to get him up or not. Castiel seemed to have similar concerns. Dean got out of the vehicle and went to the back, opening up the door on the right hand side, near where Sam's head was resting.

Dean stooped down, placing his hand on the side of Sam's head. "Hey, Sammy," he said, shaking him. "Come on, we need you to wake up." When Sam didn't respond, Dean tried to wake him several more times before he sighed heavily. "I'm sorry about this, man." He promptly lifted up Sam's cotton t-shirt and gave him the hardest titty-twister he could manage.

"Didn't know you had a sadistic streak. What a pleasant surprise," Crowley said as he stepped out of the car himself, grimacing as Sam gasped and bolted up in his seat. Cas put his hands on Sam's back, steadying the disoriented hunter. Sam blinked rapidly, shaking hand touching his chest as he let out a whine.

"What the hell-" he breathed out, looking at his brother in outrage.

"Sorry, Sammy. Extreme measures. It's time to get you in bed."

"Kinky," Crowley commented mildly from behind him. Dean shot him a disgruntled glance, and Sam leaned past his brother to look at him, eyebrows going up to touch his hairline when he saw him standing there. "Happy to see me?" Sam's eyes flitted back to Dean, seeming to send his brother a silent thank you. "Oh, how touching."

"Come on," Dean said, helping his brother stand. Castiel got out after Sam was shakily on his feet and leaning heavily on his brother. The angel came to stand behind Sam, just in case he were to fall backwards. Sam really wasn't looking great. He was trembling badly, and he looked as though he would bend over and vomit any second. Crowley pursed his lips, afraid that the trials might've already done so much damage to Sam that he wouldn't be able to function.

Fear. Another emotion that demons tended not to have, especially him. He was the King of Hell, for sin's sake. He was in charge of all of the nasty, scary things that went bump in the night. What did he have to be afraid of? Smothering these thoughts, Crowley moved forward. He motioned for Dean to let him take up his place on Sam's side. "You're the one with the cash. Grab your bags and lead on, Sparkles and I can handle him." Before Dean could argue, Crowley held up a hand. "Can we please skip the witty banter, just this once? I'm tired."

Dean still looked like he wanted to protest, but with a sigh relinquished his brother to Crowley. In spite of the eight inch height difference between himself and Sam and his current weakened state, Crowley was still a demon, and therefore had increased strength. One hand under his arm and the other on his chest, he plodded forward with Sam, with Castiel ducking under Sam's other arm to support his left side.

They made their way inside of the hotel, receiving very odd looks from the other patrons in the reception area. Crowley wasn't surprised. They had four grown men, three of whom looked somewhere ranging between 'ragged' and 'on death's door', led by Dean, who to any passerby probably seemed as though he had just stepped out of a Kalvin Klein ad.

Dean paid for the biggest single room they could get - two queens and a single bed included. It was thankfully on the first floor, so it didn't require a long trek to the room with himself and Castiel supporting Sam, who was completely silent except for the ragged breaths he drew in.

"Doing alright there, Moose?" Crowley asked as Dean fumbled with the key to their room, continually glancing back anxiously at his brother.

"F-fine," Sam said in a voice that completely contradicted his statement.

"Sam, you do not seem fine," Castiel pointed out, looking up at Sam with worry in his bright blue eyes.

"I just need to rest," Sam assured him, trying to imbue more strength into his words. Crowley saw straight through it, and he suspected that Castiel did as well. Dean opened up the door to the hotel room and allowed the three of them to walk in first. Once inside, Crowley and Castiel carefully laid Sam down on the bed nearest to the door. When Sam's body touched the mattress, he immediately let out a deep sigh of relief, laying spread eagle on the bed.

"That feel better, Sam?" Dean asked, putting a hand on his brother's back. Sam nodded slowly.

"Yeah... I just... I _really_ need to sleep," Sam said.

"Okay. We'll stay quiet so you can rest," he told his little brother. Sam's eyes were already closed, and Crowley was fairly sure that he was asleep before Dean had even finished his sentence. Dean turned to Castiel and Crowley. "Do you two need sleep?"

Crowley remained silent, letting Castiel answer first. "I... think so. I feel very worn down. Sleep would remedy that, yes?" he asked tentatively. Dean nodded.

"Yeah, Cas. It'll make you feel a lot better. Take whichever bed you want and catch some shut-eye," Dean said. However, before he could move, Crowley reached out and grabbed Castiel by the sleeve of his trench coat, restraining him. Dean immediately went on the offensive, stepping forward, and Castiel just looked afraid, like a small child, and that bothered him for reasons he couldn't pinpoint. _It bothers you because you know why he's afraid, _a voice said in the back of his mind.

"I don't know if you've smelled yourself lately, Kitten, but I'd recommend a shower first," Crowley said. He knew from the time they had spent together trying to open Purgatory that Castiel, typically, had no scent. He just _didn't _smell. However, with the loss of his Grace, apparently he was just as sweaty as any other adult male. Castiel's musk was not something terribly appetizing, at the moment.

Dean and Castiel both looked confused by his observation. Dean, awkwardly, stepped forward and sniffed Castiel, before reeling back with a shudder. "Ugh, dude, he's right - you smell like ass."

Castiel frowned."I don't know what ass smells like, Dean."

"That's a good thing," Crowley assured him. "Do you know how to take a shower? I can show you, if you like. I'm sure it'd be _very_ informative." He added a wink to the end of his statement. What could he say, innuendo wasn't something you could just shut off.

Dean threw Crowley a look that showed his displeasure at the comment. He motioned towards the bathroom. "It's not hard, Cas. Here, I'll go start the shower for you. Then I'll leave, you take off everything you're wearing, get in, use the soap to wash your body and hair, and then bam - you're clean."

"He's going to need clothes after that," Crowley pointed out.

"He can wear some of mine," Dean called as he ducked into the bathroom. Crowley leaned against the wall as he heard the water turn on. Castiel shuffled uncomfortably, arms hanging loosely at his sides, eyes lowered. He looked like a very sad puppy. He was hit with another sickening pang of compassion, and before he knew it, he was speaking.

"I'm sorry, Castiel," he said, and the level of sincerity in his voice was terrifying. Castiel lifted his head, looking at him with unabashed shock. The ex-angel was silent for a moment before he answered.

"Why?"

He felt the need to apologize for a lot of things, but he figured that presently none of them were terribly pertinent. Perhaps later. "I'm sorry that you're... Graceless."

Another moment of silence. "I see that the trial is having a strong effect on you."

"Yeah," Crowley muttered. "Lucky me."

"Cas!" Dean called from the bathroom. "Shower's ready for you." He poked his head around the corner, and Castiel made his way towards the hunter. He let Cas into the bathroom, gave him a reassuring smile, then closed the door. Crowley smirked at Dean.

"He's like a child. I don't envy you having to teach him how to tie his shoes."

"He's my friend," Dean answered stiffly. "Just 'cause he's gone from Superman to Clark Kent doesn't change that," Dean said, making his way to the duffel bag he had dropped by the door, searching through it for clothes that would fit Cas. Crowley stripped off his overcoat and suit coat, dropping them beside the single bed, deciding that since this was going to Castiel's first night ever sleeping, he might as well have the bigger bed. He laid down carefully, his bruised body protesting sharply at the movement. He let his head land on the pillow, and he sighed quietly. It was rare that he slept - demons didn't require it, but that wasn't to say that it didn't benefit them on occasion. After the day he'd had, he certainly could use a good night's rest. Without further ado, he laced his fingers behind his head and closed his eyes. In a few moments, he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Castiel stared down at his vessel's boxers. He realized with a jolt that he would have to start changing clothes on a daily basis, like humans did. Either that or he would have to buy seven versions of the same exact outfit. His trench coat, white dress shirt, blue tie, and trousers were all resting on the sink now. He supposed he would have to start showering on a daily basis, since he could no longer just think himself and his clothing clean. It would be strange.

He took of his boxers as well, letting them fall to the floor before he stepped into the pleasantly hot water that Dean had started for him. He felt guilty for the position that the older Winchester was currently in. He was powerless, Sam was ailing, Crowley was weak, and Dean was left to watch out for all of them. He still questioned Sam's request of bringing Crowley with them. It seemed unwise. Crowley had been one of the most powerful antagonists that Sam and Dean had faced following the apocalypse. His power may have been dramatically reduced, and he now possessed what seemed to be a modicum of humanity, but he was still Crowley, and Crowley was _dangerous_.

Showering, as Dean had said, wasn't terribly complicated. There was complimentary shampoo in the shower labeled whether it was for body or for hair, and they included instructions on the back. He scrubbed his body meticulously, especially the underneath of his arms, which he had identified as the source of the smell Crowley had mentioned. When he finished with his body, he moved onto his hair, getting it thoroughly soapy before washing it out. He didn't like the feeling of his hair being plastered against his forehead very much.

He stepped out of the shower into the steamy bathroom, and he saw that sometime during his shower Dean had left out clothing for him, along with a folded towel, and had scooped up the clothes that he had left behind. He dried himself off before pulling on the pair of boxers and gray sweatpants that Dean had left him.

Before he put on the white t-shirt he'd been left, he needed to check something. He smeared a hand over the mirror above the sink, clearing up the condensation that had built up there. Once his face and bare torso became visible, he gulped slightly, twisting so he could see his back. There, adjacent to his shoulder blades, were two, irritated red, two inch wide, six inch long scars.

He reached behind himself and touched one of them with a wince. He had already been able to feel that they were gone when Metatron had sent him back to Earth, and they had ached badly since, but seeing the proof in front of him that his wings were completely gone was devastating. He turned back around, hands gripping either side of the sink, trying to control the crushing sorrow and loss building in his chest.

_Father, _Castiel prayed silently. _Please... help me... I can't do this..._

"Cas?" Dean's voice spoke from behind the bathroom door, following a quick knock. "You alright, man? You've been in there awhile." Castiel didn't respond. He didn't trust himself to speak. He felt tears building in his eyes again. _Is this the sum of who I am? Am I truly this weak? _"Screw it. I'm coming in. You better be dressed, or I swear to God-" Dean opened up the door, but he didn't complete his sentence when he saw the position that he was in. Dean was staring at his back, at the same two lines he had been fixed on. "Your wings..."

"Yes," he croaked. "They're gone... and I..." He shook his head, voice failing him.

Dean took a few steps forward, until he came into Castiel's view in the mirror. Castiel looked at the reflection of his friend as a tear escaped from his eye. He didn't want to put this on Dean, who's expression looked conflicted. "I don't know what to say," Dean said honestly. "I'm not good at this stuff."

"I know," Castiel said, drawing himself up to his full height. He straightened his shoulders and released his grip on the sink, trying to compose himself. He couldn't let these vivid emotions get the best of him. "It doesn't matter. What's done is done."

"Hey, it's okay to... you know, let it out," Dean said, frowning slightly. He clasped him on the shoulder somewhat awkwardly. "I'm... I'm here for you, man."

"I know," he repeated. "I think I'd like to go to bed now."

Dean nodded before picking up the white t-shirt from where he left it. "I guess you don't know whether you prefer to sleep shirtless or not, huh?"

"These pants are very comfortable. Is the shirt made of a similar material?"

"Hell if I know. It's soft."

Castiel took the t-shirt from Dean and tugged it down over his head. It was a bit loose on him, with Dean being just slightly bigger than he was, but it still fit well enough. "Thank you," he said, looking meaningfully at Dean. Dean shrugged and gave him a half-smile.

"No problem. Now come on, it's bedtime for you. You look like you're gonna fall over," he said, turning and heading out of the bathroom. Castiel followed close behind him, fiddling with the edge of the soft fabric of the t-shirt. He understood why Dean wore these all of the time, now.

When he entered the main part of the hotel room, he saw that Crowley was sleeping on the single bed, a sight that he found incredibly odd, having never seen a demon sleep before. Like angels, demons didn't require sleep to function, though he knew that they sometimes chose to do so, generally to better disguise themselves as humans. The King of Hell was snoring along, hands behind his head, overcoat and suit coat tossed to the side, chest rising and falling slowly.

He wasn't the only supernatural entity dealing with extreme changes.

Castiel walked over to the remaining queen, laying down carefully. Dean looked at him with a hint of amusement from the nearby sofa where he was apparently planning to sleep. "Just close your eyes. Simple as pie." Dean paused, putting a hand on his stomach. "Man, I want some pie..."

"I have slept before, Dean."

"Yeah, but that was... what? Five years ago?" Dean said, referring to when he'd briefly been almost-human shortly before Lucifer's imprisonment in the Cage. Castiel closed his eyes, folding his hands over his chest. "You should probably get under the sheets," he heard Dean's voice suggest. "You'll be warmer."

He opened his eyes and lifted up the comforter and thin sheets beneath, sliding underneath them with a slight sigh. Dean was right, it was warmer. "This is comfortable."

"Yeah."

He closed his eyes again, an overwhelming wave of fatigue hitting him. "Goodnight Dean," he said quietly, so quietly that he wasn't even sure that the older Winchester heard him until he responded.

"Goodnight, Cas... sweet dreams."

* * *

_A/N: Reviews make the world go 'round!_


	4. Came Back Haunted

**Chapter 4 - Came Back Haunted**

_A/N: Thank you to CreepyReaper, twolittlewords, guest, and guest for their reviews!_

* * *

Sam woke up with a thick sheen of sweat sticking to every inch of him. He had been roused by the searing pain in his forearms, feeling as though fire was burning in his veins. His eyes snapped open, and he saw a pale orange glow dancing on the ceiling. After a moment, he realized the light was coming from him.

He looked down at his arms, and they were suffused with the same light that had surged through them during the trials. The pain ripped at his muscles, sending him flat on his back with a gasp. _Just wait it out, just wait it out, _he ordered himself. It couldn't go on forever. He just needed to make it through. He closed his eyes, trying to keep his breathing as even as he could.

It felt like white-hot knives were slicing up his arms and torso. He stuck his fist in his mouth, biting down so hard that he drew blood. He didn't need to wake up the others because of this, he didn't need to wake up Dean and make his brother more worried than he already was.

"_Bollocks!_" he heard the curse from the single bed on his right side. He could tell from the accent and choice of curse that it was Crowley. He opened his eyes and turned his head, and with the aid of the dim moonlight streaming through the window, he saw that the demon was in a state of distress. His hands were gripping his hair tightly. His eyes were pinched shut and his teeth were gritted. There was a growling coming from deep in his throat.

"C-Crowley?" Sam ground out, trying to keep his voice from escalating into a scream as the pain increased. At the same time that Sam whimpered in agony, Crowley's back arched on the bed, and the growl grew louder.

The next wave hit him, and Sam was too distracted by the searing torment of the trials that his concern for Crowley was thrown completely out the window, along with any other rational thought. For what was probably minutes but felt more like years, he struggled his way through the pain, his forearms producing that pale orange light the entire time, until finally, the glow subsided and the pain soon followed. Soaked with sweat and dragging in ragged breaths, Sam collapsed against the bed, relief seeping through him.

From Crowley's bed, he heard a similar sigh of relief. There were a few minutes of silence before either of them spoke. "What the hell did you do to me?" Crowley asked, voice seething with anger. Sam lifted his head to look at the King of Hell, who was now sitting on the edge of his bed, glaring daggers at him as he massaged his arms with a wince.

"I... what?" Sam blinked, trying to clear the hazy confusion from his mind. "I've never had an attack like that before, not during the entire time I was doing the trials... did you... did you feel it?"

"Yes, I bloody well felt it!" Crowley exclaimed in a whisper scream, evidently trying not to rouse Dean or Castiel. "Apparently when you tried to 'cure' me, you also managed to dose me with the crap that the trials are pushing through your veins."

"I'm sorry," Sam said, honestly meaning it. He wouldn't wish this on his worst enemy, and for the first time in a year, that wasn't Crowley. "Do you feel okay now?"

"Yes," Crowley answered shortly. "We're going to have to find a way to fix you. I don't want to have to put up with that."

"Fix me?" Sam asked. "I don't know if I can be fixed. I might just be doomed to this."

"Not if I have any say in it," Crowley argued. "I'm the King of Hell, darling. I've got what you call _resources_. Once Brother Bear and the angel are up, it's high time we go about finding something that will put you back in the field and keep you out of the grave."

"The trials won't kill me," Sam said, half trying to convince Crowley, half trying to convince himself. "I didn't follow through with curing you. They only kill you if you complete all three trials."

"You hope."

"Thanks for that," Sam mumbled, letting his head fall back into the pillow. He could feel the fatigue of the attack hitting him, and he could see a similar feeling washing over Crowley. The demon king stretched out languidly on the bed once again.

"Anytime, Moose," he said, closing his eyes. "Now, if I wake up to that again, I'll kill you myself. Bubble dreams."

* * *

Castiel was awakened by the smell of hot food, something that seemed incredibly appealing to him at that moment. He cracked open one eye, and he saw Dean entering the hotel room, arms full of bags of what appeared to be every item off of a standard diner breakfast menu. Dean deposited the bags on the sofa before collapsing down and removing a muffin from one of the bags, apparently unaware of the fact that he was awake.

"Good morning," Castiel said, sitting up. Dean jumped at the sound of his voice. Dean let out an exasperated sigh.

"Morning," Dean said. "You scared the crap out of me."

"I'm sorry. It was not my intention," he apologized as he peeled back the covers and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He rubbed at his eye with one of his hands, letting out a loud yawn. Sleeping had been relaxing and restful. He decided that he and the other angels had been missing out. Dean was smiling slightly at him as he continued to eat his breakfast. Castiel tilted his head. "Do you find something amusing?"

Dean shook his head. "Nah, it's just... when you did that, it reminded me of Sammy when he was little." He nudged one of the bags with his hand. "Hungry?"

"Yes, actually," Castiel told him as he stood up and stretched. "It's a very odd feeling."

"Well, what do you want for your first meal as a full-blown human?" Dean asked, going through the bag as he finished off his muffin. "Sorry it's not White Castle, but that's not really something you want first thing in the morning. I got pretty much everything... eggs, bacon, sausage, hashbrowns, toast, pancakes..."

"Pancakes," Castiel said with a nod. "When I was on the run with the angel tablet and was using Biggerson's to hide my trail, I often ordered pancakes. I never ate them, of course, but they did smell pleasant."

"Pancakes it is." Dean removed a Styrofoam container from the bag and offered it to Castiel, along with a plastic knife and fork. He accepted it with a murmured 'thank you' before seating himself on the sofa next to Dean. He opened the container, inhaling the scent of the syrup coated pancakes with a slight sigh. Dean smirked at him as he went back into a bag for some toast.

Castiel tested the pancakes, and the flavor was sweet and the texture fluffy. Hmm. He could see why Dean seemed to enjoy eating so much. He lifted his eyes as he continued to eat his meal, chewing slowly. His gaze landed on Sam and Crowley, who were still sleeping. "What time is it?" Castiel asked.

Dean checked the time on his phone. "Ten. I don't know whether we should wake them or not." He then seemed to reconsider. "Actually, I don't give a shit about waking Crowley up." He took another muffin from the bag and tossed it at Crowley's head. Dean's aim was true, and it hit the King of Hell square in the face, disintegrating into crumbs. Crowley bolted up.

"What the-" he sputtered as he looked at the muffin fragments now dotting his black silk button-down. He looked up at Dean, who gave him a little two fingered salute.

"Top o' the morning, Crowley," he greeted with a sarcastic smirk. "How's tricks?"

"Get bent," he replied, brushing off his shirt before scooping up his suit jacket and tugging it over his arms.

"If you need food, it's here," Dean said gruffly. Crowley eyed the bags.

"Uh, hello. Demon. The fact that I slept through the night was a fluke - I'm not going native."

"Whatever," Dean responded with a shrug. Crowley departed for the bathroom without another word, slamming the door shut behind him, which Castiel found confusing, since demons didn't need to use the bathroom. "Guess he's not a morning person, huh?"

"I suppose not," Castiel said. "Dean, there's something that you need to be made aware of."

Dean turned to look at him, lips immediately tugging into a worried frown. "Yeah?"

"From what Metatron told me, all of the angels have been locked out of Heaven." He took another bite of his pancake. This had been troubling him since the night before, but his preoccupation with the loss of his powers had distracted him from giving it further fought. However, today, in a new light, the problem definitely needed to be addressed. "Not all of the angels in Heaven were good, Dean."

"I know, Cas. I met Naomi... and Uriel... and Zachariah... and Raphael... and-"

"You misunderstand me. There was an angel imprisoned in Heaven, much like Lucifer and Michael are imprisoned in the Cage. He had great power, and he was evil, Dean. Perhaps even more corrupt than Lucifer himself." Castiel swallowed, pursing his lips before continuing. "His name is Xaphan. When Lucifer first fell, Xaphan guided him in his descent into darkness. It was his prompting that gave Lucifer the idea to create Lilith. He and Lucifer, together, attempted to burn down Heaven in a storm of holy fire. They almost succeeded. Lucifer managed to escape before he could experience the retribution of our Father, but Xaphan was not so lucky. He was taken somewhere - I don't where - and held there. He has been there for millennia."

"And if all the other angels got booted out of Heaven, that means that this Xaphan guy did too, right?" Dean asked, brow creasing as he realized the implications of the information. Castiel nodded.

"Yes. Xaphan is on Earth," Castiel assured him.

"That's... really friggin' bad, Cas. How powerful are we talking, on a scale of one to archangel?"

"Xaphan is ancient and lacks any sort of morals or compassion. Because of that, it makes him dangerous. He's a seraph, like myself-" he broke off as he remembered that he wasn't a seraph anymore. Gulping slightly, he continued. "-but he's more powerful than I was, though I assume that he could be killed by any angel blade or the angel gun that Crowley made, which I'm sure you took from him after you captured him," he explained. He didn't particularly like the idea of challenging Xaphan in battle, though he had a feeling that it would eventually have to be done. Xaphan posed an enormous threat to mankind, especially if he gained support from either the demons or some of the fallen angels.

"So, looks like we're going to have to go on an angel hunt once we ditch the King of Feelings and Sam's feeling better," Dean said with a heavy sigh. "Great. Nothing like having to go after Lucifer Jr. to brighten your day."

"I don't think that Sam will like the idea of us 'ditching' Crowley," Castiel said, lowering his voice so Crowley wouldn't be able to hear him from the bathroom. "It seems that he feels a certain connection to him, now."

"He better not," Dean growled, seeming thoroughly displeased. "As soon as he's back to normal, we're kicking his ass back to Hell. I don't get why Sam suddenly cares about him so much."

"He's got my blood, Dean." Dean flinched, eyes darting away from Castiel's to focus on his brother, who was now pushing himself into a sitting position. Castiel hadn't even noticed that Sam was awake. "I made him like this. I need to... I don't know. Watch out for him. He's not the enemy anymore, now that we're not trying to shut the gates of Hell."

"You've wanted to ice Lucky the Leprechaun since we lost the Colt," Dean said, frustration evident in his voice. Castiel looked at Sam. The younger Winchester didn't seem much better than he had the day before. He was still looking quite ragged, with dark circles under his eyes and his long brown hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. "You can't tell me that eight hours with the guy suddenly changed everything."

"He's still a demon, I know that," Sam said. "But he's got some humanity now, Dean. And we have a lot of enemies. It really wouldn't hurt to have a powerful ally, and the King of Hell definitely qualifies."

"He'll stab us in the back the first chance he gets," Dean protested, and Castiel had to agree. Crowley was always looking out for Crowley. As soon as he got the opportunity, he would do his best to eliminate Dean and Sam, Castiel was sure of that.

"I don't think so, Dean," Sam said, rubbing a hand behind his neck and wincing. "He doesn't have anything to gain by killing us."

"Like that'll stop him."

"Dean is right, Sam," Castiel told the younger Winchester. "Crowley is not to be trusted." Dean snorted at this, and Castiel frowned, knowing that the hunter was restraining himself from pointing out the irony of Castiel advising Sam not to put faith in the demon king.

"I'm not saying that we trust him, I'm saying that we should give him a chance. If he turns on us, we'll kill him. It'll sure be a lot easier now than it was before," Sam said. Castiel finished off his pancakes and set it to the side, clasping his hands together, looking at Dean to try and glean what the hunter was thinking. His eyes were dark, distant. He was thinking, and he was torn. Most likely between his desire to keep Sam happy and his desire to end Crowley.

"If you're done planning my demise?" Sam, Dean, and Castiel's heads all simultaneously turned towards the bathroom, where Crowley was hovering the threshold. The bruises and lacerations on his face were healed now, his suit once more pristine, and he seemed to be standing a little straighter. He gestured towards his ears. "Demons. Ears like cats."

Dean leveled a frosty glare at the demon, but said nothing.

"You're healed," Sam observed. "Are your powers coming back?"

"Enough that I could get myself back in order," Crowley replied. "Trust me, as soon as I'm able, I'll be back to Hell and away from you idiots."

"You still haven't recovered your ability to teleport?" Cas asked, eyeing the demon warily. A second later, Crowley was directly in front of him, smirking slightly.

"Oh, short distances, sure, but Hell isn't exactly right next door, now is it?" he asked, chucking him on the bottom of the chin. Castiel jerked back with a frown. That had been something Crowley had done during their partnership frequently. He did not appreciate the flashback. Sam cleared his throat, breaking the awkward tension that had built up in the room.

"So, what's our next step?" Sam asked.

"We need to get back to the bunker," Dean said. "Figure out what's going on out in the world. Figure out what the angels are doing." His eyes darted to Crowley. "What the demons are going to do. Oh, and apparently there's some kind of evil Lucifer loyalist angel that Cas says is going to be running around."

"Ho-ho." Crowley arched both of his eyebrows. "Don't tell me. Big Man Upstairs was hiding Xaphan in Heaven? That's not good. The things I've heard about him..."

"He's not an archangel, is he?" Sam asked, nervously gripping at the edge of his comforter. Castiel shook his head.

"No, he's a seraph. He's very powerful, but he should be able to be killed just like any other angel."

"Question is, will Xaphan try to align with my kind, or take over a band of rogue angels?" Crowley asked. "This _will_ be interesting..."

Dean rolled his eyes before grabbing the bag that contained their breakfast and taking it to Sam. "Come on, eat something. Once you're done we'll hit the road." Crowley followed Dean, brushing past the older Winchester to put a hand on Sam's forehead. Dean did not seem to like the idea of Crowley touching his brother, and grabbed Crowley's arm.

Castiel stood, sensing the conflict that was about to erupt. "Moose," Crowley said, looking Dean dead in the eye, unflinching under the hunter's steely gaze. "Call of your dog, would you?"

"Dean, let him be," Sam said tiredly, grabbing the bag and rooting through it until he found a container of scrambled eggs and sausage. "He's just trying to see if I'm running a fever."

"Why should he care?" Dean said, reluctantly releasing the demon's arm. Crowley proceeded to feel Sam's forehead with the back of his hand. Castiel noticed that Sam and Crowley shared a meaningful look.

"He's burning up. And who knows, maybe I've developed a soft spot for jolly green," Crowley said, withdrawing his hand. Castiel felt as though something was being left unsaid. "Once you get back to your little hidey-hole, fixing him goes on the to-do list."

"You think I don't know that?" Dean snapped, looking down worriedly at Sam, who seemed to be wondering whether he would be able to keep down his breakfast.

"I just go through life assuming that you don't anything at all." Castiel watched as Crowley and Dean continued to bicker, but he couldn't help but be preoccupied by whatever was transpiring between Crowley and Sam. Sam had always hated the demon even more than Dean, to see them interacting like this was very unsettling. Could Sam and Crowley be hiding something from Dean?

He could only hope that Sam didn't make the same mistake that he had...


	5. Ordinary World

**Chapter 5 - Ordinary World**

_A/N: Thank you to Sacred649, twolittlewords, and cassbutt for their reviews!_

* * *

"Everybody ready?" Dean asked the room at large. Sam was on his feet, albeit shakily, with his duffel bag over his shoulder. He noticed that Crowley was standing unusually close to him, as if prepared to catch Sam if he were to fall. Castiel was standing beside him, dressed in Dean's clothes. He'd had to tie the laces of Cas' boots for him. It was kind of weird looking at Cas and seeing him dressed _exactly_ like him. Dark green shirt. Dark brown jacket. Flannel shirt. Stonewashed blue jeans. Old hunting boots. _Hell, he's like a mini-me. _

Nods from around the room. Dean smiled brightly. "Great... one sec..." He reached into his bag, fumbling around. "Here we go." He pulled out a black cloth sack. "Just what I was looking for." He lunged forward quickly, kicking Crowley hard in the shin to catch him off guard before pulling the sack over his head and cinching it around his neck. Crowley shoved him away after swearing loudly.

"What the hell are you playing at?" he exclaimed, hands reaching for the sack.

"Ah-ah-ah," Dean said, grabbing Crowley's wrist and fitting one of the handcuffs inscribed with the Key of Solomon around his right wrist. He quickly attached the other cuff to Crowley's left wrist. "There's no way I'm letting you see the way to our home base. You were weak enough last night that we didn't need the extra protection, but just an unfriendly reminder - _I don't trust you_."

"Hell forbid I know the way to your little hole in the wall. Why would I give a flying damn about where you two live when you're not in that blasted car, anyway?"

Dean was surprised when Crowley fell silent after that, fuming underneath the sack. He could practically feel the rage radiating off of the demon king. Good. It was about time that Crowley took a hint and shut the hell up.

"Dean," Castiel pointed out from beside him. "I think that the clerk will be suspicious of us escorting Crowley out like this."

"Well, crap. I didn't think of that," Dean admitted. Sam let out a heavy sigh.

"I'll distract the clerk. You get him to the car," Sam told him. He didn't seem too pleased that Crowley was getting pushed back to prisoner status, but thankfully he seemed to realize that it was necessary.

"What are you going to do? Strip tease?" Crowley asked, his voice muffled by the bag.

"Five minutes?" Dean asked, disregarding Crowley. Sam nodded. "Go."

He watched as Sam carefully made his way forward, as if he was afraid that he would fall. His brother looked like even walking was a gargantuan effort. He wanted to go with Sam to make sure that nothing happened to him in his ailing state, but there was no way he was leaving a human Cas around Crowley, even if Crowley wasn't as strong as usual.

Five minutes later, Dean and Cas quickly departed the room, each of them gripping one of Crowley's arms to make sure he didn't try to make an escape attempt. When they reached the reception area, there indeed was no clerk, and the area was starkly empty. They rushed through the front doors, making a beeline for the Impala. A moment later, Crowley was in the backseat along with Cas, who was pressed up against the door to be as far away from the demon as humanly possible.

Dean slid into the driver's seat, and they only had to wait about two minutes for Sam to materialize next to the vehicle. His brother opened the door and sank down into the passenger seat. Aside from his breathing being slightly labored, he seemed alright.

"Nice job. What'd you do, anyway?"

"I told her that I'd found a cockroach by the vending machines. I made sure to say it_ loudly_," Sam told him. "Lobby cleared out pretty quick and she ran off to go find the thing and kill it."

Dean gave his brother a small smile before pulling out of the hotel parking lot and onto the road and began their journey towards Lebanon and the Men of Letters bunker.

The ten hour journey to Kansas was fairly uneventful. Once Dean finished explaining all that had transpired with Cas and Metatron, he put on the radio in an attempt to temper the silence in the car and to find out what was happening in the world, what kind of effect the angels were having. So far, all he'd managed to glean was 'odd weather patterns'. Lightning storms, flash floods, and of course the spontaneous meteor shower that had happened the night before, which had astronomers all over the country perplexed.

Meteors. Right.

During the ride, Sam slipped in and out of sleep, Crowley remained surly and silent, and Cas looked out the window, seeming incredibly distracted. He couldn't blame the guy. He was dealing with a lot at the moment.

Shortly after they crossed the border into Kansas, around eighty thirty, there was a breaking news alert that surprised all four of them: Mt. St. Helens had erupted. Sam's eyes widened, and upon checking Cas' reflection in the rearview mirror, saw that the angel looked equally distressed.

"We're not anywhere near there, I hope?" Crowley drawled, his anger having simmered out and dissolved into boredom over the course of the day.

"No, but that's... shit, that's bad," Dean said, turning off the radio. He knew that he should find out more, but his stomach was doing unpleasant flips and he did not want to think of all the people that had been killed just in the past twenty four hours. What the hell were the angels were doing? Or was it this Xaphan dude?

"This can't be the other angels," Cas said, echoing Dean's thoughts. "My brothers and sisters aren't saints, by any means, but they wouldn't cause this much wanton destruction on purpose. This must be Xaphan."

"He's got enough juice to make Mt. St. Helen's erupt? Cas, you said he was a seraph! Even on your worst days you couldn't pull something that big off."

"It's the only explanation I have, Dean. I don't have any idea how he managed to have that kind of energy unless he was allied with someone incredibly powerful," Castiel replied.

"Well, considering you've got one of the most powerful supernatural entities still breathing locked up in the back of your car," Crowley said pointedly. "I'd say you ought to be looking for something pretty nasty."

"We need to get a better understanding of the situation," Cas said. "Once we reach the bunker, we will need to call all your contacts in the hunting community to try and get a better grasp of how the angels are reacting to the change."

"You're right. We've got a lot do once we're home. A hell of a lot," Dean said, referring to gathering all of the facts of what was happening, trying to find a way to heal Sam, dealing with Crowley, and helping Cas adjust to being human.

"I wish the reactions of my brothers and sisters were more predictable, but the angels have never faced anything like this before..." Cas said, eyes still fixed on the passing scenery. Cas seemed to like being in the car for long periods of time.

"Well, I can guarantee you one reaction from the fluffy-winged bastards: they'll be after you, darling," Crowley said, and unfortunately, Dean had to agree with him. As far as the other angels knew, Castiel had helped Metatron kick them out of their house. In other words, he was public enemy number one at the moment.

"I'm aware of that," Castiel said tersely. "My siblings do not forget easily. After my..." He gulped slightly. "After my massacre of Raphael's followers, I have not been a favorite in Heaven. Now that they think I've locked them out of Paradise, they will try to hunt me down."

"But why haven't they, already?" Dean asked. "It wouldn't be that hard to find us, even with the Enochian crap on our ribs and the hex bags in the Impala."

"We still don't know how weakened the angels are," Castiel said. "That could account for the fact that they haven't found us yet."

Dean could only hope that the angels weren't half as powerful as they were prior to their fall, or Cas' expiration date (and theirs as well, by association) was probably sometime before the end of the week.

"I guess we just gotta cross our fingers and hope they don't come after us, because right now, I'm the only one of us who can fight," he said gruffly, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. He had a mental image of himself, surrounded by angels who were gripping their angel blades menacingly. Yeah, he'd barely stand a chance against one angel, let alone a group of them. As Cas had so deftly pointed out all those years ago, he was just a man.

After that, a solemn silence fell on the four of them, which wasn't surprising considering the stream of bad news on the radio. His Metallica and Megadeth was being continuously interrupted by tornado warnings and reports on forest fires a little farther to the west. Things were going from bad to really_, really _bad.

Roughly an hour later, they arrived at the Men of Letters bunker. Dean felt relief seep through his chest. He'd never had that feeling before, that feeling of being home, even when he'd lived with Lisa and Ben. Glancing over at his brother, he knew why. Home was where Sam was.

"Hey, Sammy, come on. We're home." He shook him lightly to wake him up. Sam's eyelids fluttered open with a groan.

"We're here already?" Sam asked, shifting in his seat so he could look out of the window. "I feel like I just fell asleep."

"Well, if you're still tired, you can sleep in your own bed once we get inside," Dean said as he opened his door and stepped out of the Impala. Sam did the same on his side, although his movements were labored. Dean felt a stab of worry for his younger brother.

Cas stepped out of the Impala, looking around. The last time Cas had been here was when he had been recovering from Crowley removing the angel tablet from his body, when Dean hadn't been speaking to him. He regretted his treatment of Cas now that some time had passed and his resentment had the chance to drain a little. Cas had screwed them over a lot in the past couple of years, there was no arguing with that, but with how lost and scared he appeared now, it was hard not to forgive him, no matter how much he wanted to hold onto his anger.

"How are we going to get Crowley inside?" Cas asked, looking back at the demon king.

"Taking this damn bag off of my head would be a nice start."

Dean pretended like he hadn't heard him. Castiel frowned.

"I just have to say few phrases in Latin, and he'll be allowed to pass by the demon protection sigils, as long as he's with one of us," Sam explained tiredly, opening up the door next to Crowley and loosening the draw string of the bag around Crowley's head. He removed it with a tug, and Crowley let out a sigh of relief, blinking against the lights in the Impala.

"About bloody time," he said, before lifting up his hands and nodding down at the cuffs around his wrists. "How about these, then?"

"Hell no," Dean said. There was no way he was going to let Crowley out of those cuffs until they had him sitting in a devil's trap in the dungeon hidden behind Room 7B. "You're lucky Sam took the bag off."

"Lucky!?" the demon king burst out. "Sorry, darling, but where in all of this sodding mess am I lucky?"

"Enough," Sam said wearily. "You two head inside, I'll deal with him." Dean pursed his lips, raising an eyebrow at his brother to show that he was dubious about how good of an idea that was. Sam rolled his eyes, tapping the hilt of Ruby's knife where it was sheathed on is side. "I'll be fine, Dean."

Dean still wasn't a huge fan of the idea, but while he was cuffed, Crowley was bordering on powerless. Dean began walking towards the entrance, glancing back to make sure that Castiel was following close behind. Meanwhile, he saw that Sam had his hand on Crowley's forehead, muttering something in Latin while Crowley continued to look rather disgruntled.

Soon, the two of them were entering into the main foyer of the bunker, and Dean was surprised to see two people waiting for them. At the wide dining table in the main room sat Kevin and Garth, both looking rather the worse for wear. He could only assume that Garth had dropped by to check on Kevin and the teenage prophet had allowed him into the bunker.

"It's about time you got here," Kevin breathed, looking somewhat relieved to see him. The Prophet looked about as rundown as he had the day before when he and Castiel had stopped by the bunker. Dark circles under his eyes, a five o'clock shadow, an overall look of noting having slept in weeks. Garth was in his Texas ranger get-up, his cowboy hat tugged down over his eyes, and the usually chipper hunter seemed like he was anxious.

Dean's eyes went to the consoles on the left side of the foyer that tracked demonic and angelic omens, along with devil's gates. It looked as though Kevin had figured out how to turn the warning alarms off, but hundreds of bright lights shown on the interactive map, meaning that things were going to hell in a hand basket _fast_.

Garth furrowed his brow at Cas, tilting his head a little. "Heya Cas... how you doing?"

Cas' eyes immediately wandered to Dean, as if looking for some kind of reassurance - but then Dean realized that Cas was actually silently asking for him to explain what had happened to Garth and Kevin.

"Cas has been de-angel-fied," he told them, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Naomi was telling the truth. Metatron took his Grace as part of a ritual to lock the angels out of Heaven."

"So that's how this happened!" Garth said. "I mean, well, for the past twenty-four or so, every hunter in the states has been wondering what the heck made 'em fall all of a sudden like that."

"What kind of state are the other angels in?" Cas asked quickly, breaking his silence. "Have they maintained their Grace?"

Kevin and Garth both nodded. "Oh yeah," Kevin responded. "They're perfectly Graceful, alright. Haven't you guys heard the news?"

"Freak electrical storms, flash floods, Mt. St. Helen's erupting, it's like Lucifer rising all over again. We've got ourselves a problem," Garth tacked on.

"They're turning the Earth into their battlefield," Kevin said, rising from his chair. "In all the major cities, it's practically a war."

"Wait, just wait a minute!" Dean said. "A war against what? Are they fighting each other? They've only been on Earth for a freakin' day!"

Garth and Kevin looked at him like he was terribly out of the loop. "No," Kevin said, shaking his head. "They're fighting the demons. _All _of them. Everywhere. You see those blips on the electronic map? Those are devil's gates. They're opening all over the world."

* * *

Sam finished the Latin incantation that would allow him to make his way past the demon warding sigils. Sam's hand was firmly fixed on his forehead, and he had been rattling off the dead language for the past few minutes. Much to his displeasure, he hadn't been able to convince Sam to remove his handcuffs. "Come on, let's go-" Abruptly Sam cut off, his hand falling from Crowley's forehead and instead flying to his own arm. He blinked several times, a groan building in his throat.

"Oh, bollocks, not again-" before Crowley could even finish, he felt the searing agony that he had the night before. Sam dropped to his knees as orange pulsed from his forearms, and Crowley collapsed back against the Impala, growling in pain. Liquid fire poured through his veins, and black began to creep in at the edge of his vision. Sweat trickled from his forehead, and he felt as if his vessel's skin was going to start boiling off.

"Make... make it stop!" Sam croaked, ducking his head and putting his hands behind his neck, curled up as small as the gargantuan man could get. Crowley, normally, would have had a witty remark on hand, but he could barely string two coherent thoughts together, let alone a sentence.

Then, almost as quickly as it began, it stopped. He sagged to the ground, his back sliding down the passenger door of the Impala. Sam's fit subsided at the exact same time, and he heard the younger Winchester gasp a sigh of relief. Crowley tugged up the sleeves of his suit and black silk button-down as best as he could with his cuffed hands, and he managed to catch the residual orange glow on his forearms before it disappeared.

After a long moment passed, Sam looked up at him. "You okay?"

He blinked in subdued surprise. "And why would you care, Moose? Feeling guilty, are we?"

"Will you just give me a straight answer, for once?" he said, in the process of struggling off of the ground. He managed to make it to one knee before falling again. Crowley pushed himself away from the Impala, straightening the lapels of his suit as he looked down at the hunter. He had recovered from the attack fairly quickly - he felt drained, but he didn't look half as bad as Sam.

He stooped down next to him. "I'm fine, compared to you." A bead of sweat trickled down Sam's forehead, and he was still gasping for air. "Can you walk?" he asked, a thread of concern making its way through him. There was a long moment before Sam responded.

"I don't know," he replied finally. Bracing himself against Crowley's shoulder (which, in retrospect, mightn't have been the wisest idea) he forced himself into a hunched over position. He let out a ragged cough, and Crowley was displeased to find that Sam had just splattered blood on his favorite tie.

_Perfect. _


	6. The Devil You Know

**Chapter 6 - The Devil You Know**

_A/N: Thank you to yukio87, guest, and twolittlewords for their reviews!_

* * *

"Come on, then." Crowley worked his way under Sam's arm, once again acting as a horribly disproportionate crutch for the giant. Sam looked down at him, seeming confused by his actions. "Wouldn't want Squirrel to think that I slit your throat," he said, by way of explanation. Sam nodded blearily as they continued their path towards the entrance. They pushed through the heavy steel door, moving like some horrible imitation of a three-legged race.

They stepped through the door and into what Crowley realized was a bunker of some variety. Definitely old, and definitely sturdy. He was surprised to find that the Winchesters actually had a home base. He was convinced that the closest thing the two hunters had to a home was the Impala.

He heard voices coming from up ahead. Dean, Castiel, and two others. One was familiar, one was not. The shaky adolescence in the one voice brought back memories. Memories of torturing a woman, trying to get information, laughing as she bled out, laughing as she screamed. Linda Tran. One of the only subjects of his torture that had never given into him. No matter what he did, she wouldn't break. She refused to give up her son. So, in the end, he'd killed her _just because he could_. He'd gotten everything he needed from her phone.

He gasped as a wave of remorse washed over him, nearly sending him to his knees. His eyes burned, and he had to grit his teeth and duck his head to prevent their escape. Sam looked at him worriedly as they exited the first corridor and into a large foyer.

Dean and Castiel turned to look at him and Sam. Dean's eyebrows immediately dragged down in anger at the sight of Crowley touching his brother, but his expression quickly turned to concern when he realized the condition that Sam was in.

However, someone else was stealing the spotlight. The Prophet of the Lord himself, Kevin Tran, was standing next to a man that Crowley didn't recognize, looking at him with eyes the size of the moon. "Crowley!?"

"Kevin," Crowley greeted, nodding his head at the teenager. "It's been too long." He realized that his usual bravado was slightly diminished by the fact that his voice cracked halfway through the sentence. He'd seen that kind of pure terror in the boy's eyes far too many times before... and before, he had enjoyed it.

Not anymore.

"What the hell is he doing with you guys?" Kevin asked, instinctively backing up. The other man, dressed as some comical interpretation of a cowboy, looked back and forth between Kevin and Crowley.

"So _this_ is Crowley, huh?"

"You've seen my stage show," Crowley replied as he struggled forward with Sam. A second later, the burden was lifted as Dean took most of his brother's weight off of Crowley shoulders and deposited him in one of the chairs at the long dining table that was the centerpiece of the room.

"Somebody answer me!" Kevin burst out. "What is he doing here!?"

"It's a long story, Kev," Dean told him as he watched Crowley warily. He clapped his brother on the shoulder as he turned back to the prophet.

"Wait a minute, Crowley... the third trial... are you _cured_?"

"Half," Sam coughed, speaking for the first time since Crowley had helped him inside. "Humanity, but he's still a demon."

"And you guys just let him in here!" Kevin exploded, facing turning bright red. "HE'S STILL A DEMON AND YOU LET HIM WALK STRAIGHT THROUGH THE DOOR!?"

"Come on, calm down-" Dean began, but the Prophet cut him off.

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Kevin snapped back. "After everything he's done to me? To you and Sam? To Castiel?"

"If it makes any difference," Crowley said, interrupting Kevin before he could continue with his histrionics. "I am sorry for what I've done to you." The most frightening part of it all was that he meant the apology. He hadn't sincerely expressed regret in centuries.

"You're sorry," Kevin repeated, his voice dropping down into a monotone. Silent rage burned in the prophet's dark eyes, and he turned his attention to Dean and Sam. "I'm done."

"You are needed," Castiel told him, his voice steel. "You cannot leave now. The remainder of the angel tablet must be translated."

"Sorry Castiel, but you're not an angel anymore, you can't force me to do anything," Kevin said, shaking his head as he disappeared for a moment down an adjacent hallway. Crowley looked sideways at Castiel, who's head was lowered in a melancholy fashion. The former angel didn't seem pleased at being reminded of the loss of his powers.

Kevin reappeared with a duffel bag over his shoulder. It must have already been packed... apparently he'd been planning to leave before now.

"Hey, Kevin, will you just stop and think about this for a second?" Dean said. "You can't just storm off like this, not with the angels falling. They'll come after you."

"Like Garth told you, they don't have their wings anymore. They're powerful, but not as powerful as they were before. I was on the run for a year when you were in Purgatory, and I did just fine," Kevin argued, stalking forward. Dean moved to block his path.

"Hate to be the one to remind you, but I captured you, so 'did just fine' is a mite of an exaggeration," Crowley pointed out mildly. Kevin glared daggers at him before turning back to Dean.

"When the lines get blurred? When we starting working with the bad guys? That's when I'm done," he told the oldest Winchester.

"Listen, we're not working with him. He's just... Sam..." Dean fumbled to explain, but Kevin just shook his head again, pushing past Dean. Crowley was surprised that the hunter didn't manhandle Kevin to stop him from passing.

"I'm out. Gone. Goodbye, don't try and find me - I'm going to go try and put my life back together."

"Kid, come on!" Dean burst out. Kevin didn't look back at him. He did, however, stop directly in front of Crowley. Crowley lifted his chin slightly, appraising the worn down looking young man in front of him. He felt a stab of sympathy for him. No one deserved to be thrown to the wolves without even volunteering for it. He'd been forced into a life he had no idea how to handle. _And I just made it all the worse, didn't I?_

"You're sorry?" Kevin asked in a dead voice. Crowley nodded.

"Yes, I am," Crowley responded, dropping any hint of snark from his voice. Kevin looked at him for a long moment before letting his fist fly directly into Crowley's jaw. He was startled to find that it actually hurt a bit. He groaned and put a hand on the side of his face, but before he could express his displeasure, Kevin was already gone when he looked back up. "Prat," he muttered, rubbing the side of his face.

Dean turned to the other man, who had observed the entire situation with a mixture of curiosity, confusion, and anxiety. "Garth? Can you please run after him to make sure he doesn't-" before Dean could finish, Garth nodded.

"On it. Be back in a jiff."

The four of them watched as Garth exited the foyer before all of them simultaneously turned to look at each other. "Well, this is just great," Dean said, throwing up his hands in exaggerated defeat before leaning over his brother and putting a hand on his back. "Sammy? You okay?" He turned his eyes to Crowley.

Sam nodded. "F-fine... just... need to lay down."

Dean's eyes moved to Crowley. "What the hell happened to him?"

"He had an attack," Crowley answered vaguely. "The trials are still coursing through him, and his body's on its last legs."

Dean grimaced, anxiety prevalent on his features. He then shook his head slightly before patting his brother on the shoulder and moving to help him to his feet. "Okay, come on, let's tuck you in."

"N-no," Sam stammered. "Just the couch. I want to know what Garth and Kevin said when we were outside," he said. nodding towards a low-lying sofa on the other end of the room.

"Sam, I really think you need to rest-"

"They brought news of the other angels," Castiel interrupted Dean as he took up Sam's other side. He watched the ex-angel and Dean escort Sam to the couch, the older brother barely able to support himself. _Good, _Crowley thought. _I'd like to hear what our fine feathered friends are up to, as well._

They deposited Sam on the couch, and he sighed as he sank against the cushions, eyes falling closed. Dean sat down by his brother's feet, not taking his gaze off of Sam for a second.

"While he plays mother hen," Crowley said, coming to stand behind Castiel. "Why don't you share with the class, Kitten?"

Castiel looked over his shoulder at him, frowning before looking to Dean for confirmation that it was alright for Crowley to hear everything as well. Dean nodded in affirmation. Crowley tailed Castiel to the other side of the room. "According to Garth and Kevin, it didn't take the angels long to regroup once they fell. They are openly waging war on the demons that are currently on Earth. There have been hundreds of demonic omens, and devil's gates opening everywhere." Castiel gestured to an electronic map on the wall, which had several dozen lights lit up on various spots all over the world. "It appears that more damned souls are escaping Hell in an attempt to try and outnumber the angels."

"It's a full-on demon/angel war," Dean tacked onto Castiel's explanation. Crowley felt his fists clench at his sides almost involuntarily. How dare his army move without his command? He'd only been gone for a day and a half!

"You're telling me that the demons are operating on their own?" Crowley asked, his voice a low growl. "They just decided unanimously to attack the angels _without my consent_?"

"Well, you've been a little tied up lately," Dean commented dryly.

"This is ridiculous," Crowley said. "I've been gone for less than forty-eight hours. There's absolutely no chance that the legions of Hell would move without my express and specific command. They know the consequences for insubordination." Recollections of dishing out said consequences hit him at full force, and he had to put a hand to the wall to steady himself as bile rose in his throat. Dean arched an eyebrow at him, but said nothing.

"Can't you tell what's happening with the demons and with Hell? You told me that as king you have a connection with the realm of the damned, you can feel it," Castiel said.

"Yes, I can... usually. Ever since Moose gave me an octuple dose of the good stuff, however, I haven't been... _vibing _with Hades, so to speak. I expect that sense will recover along with the rest of my powers."

"Well, they are fighting the angels," Castiel reiterated. "It started today, after the word spread through Earth and Hell that they had truly fallen. Whether you like it or not, it seems that your forces have decided to attack without consulting you."

"Maybe they think that Abaddon killed you," Sam offered sleepily.

"She damn near did," Crowley growled. "Thankfully, Moose here smoked her out of her meat suit."

"Whoa, wait, Abaddon crashed the party when you were doing the last trial?" Dean asked. Sam nodded dimly.

"Yeah, yeah... she showed up, I don't know why, I don't know how she knew where we were, even..."

Crowley mock coughed to bring attention to himself. "That bit was my doing, actually. See the wound there on his arm?" He gestured to Sam, who grimaced slightly. "I got a little feisty before the injections turned me into a simpering mess, I took a sample bite of the Sam Special. Using his blood, I tried to contact my followers, but unfortunately, Abaddon intercepted the call and decided to pay us a visit instead."

"There's your answer then," Dean said. "Everyone downstairs thinks your dead as a doornail."

"So, what are we going to do?" Sam lifted his head as much as he could, looking to his older brother for guidance. _Touching, _Crowley thought sarcastically.

"We'll work out a game plan once we've all had some time to rest," Dean told him. "Especially you. We're not doing anything until we figure out how to get you better."

"Dean. You can't do that," Sam said immediately. "Listen, I d-don't know what's wrong with me, I don't know what the trials did, but if the angels and demons are duking it out, we don't have time for you all to sit around my sickbed. You've got to do something."

Just the few sentences seemed to put the younger Winchester out of breath, and both Dean and Castiel noticed this as well. "Sam, we're not going to just leave you here alone-"

"You know what, you're right. We should talk about this in the morning," Sam said, turning his head away from his brother. Dean pursed his lips before exchanging a glance with Castiel. Dean set a hand on Sam's shoulder, squeezing slightly.

"Okay. We'll talk in the morning. Do you want to go to your bed?"

"I'm fine here..." it sounded like Sam was already drifting off to sleep.

"Alright. Goodnight, Sammy," Dean said, expression softening more than Crowley had ever seen before. Sam didn't reply, having already passed out. Dean sighed heavily, rising to his feet. His eyes immediately went to Crowley. "Time for you to see your new room, Crowley."

* * *

"Sweet dreams," Dean said, sliding the door shut to the fully-equipped demon dungeon and giving the King of Hell the best shit-eating grin he could manage. Crowley promptly gave him the finger before he disappeared behind the panel. It had taken a good deal of threatening with Ruby's knife to get the demon inside the room and inside the devil's trap, but Dean had told him that if he kept being a smartass, he'd chain him to the wall, and that seemed to have tempered Crowley's protests somewhat.

Dean ran a hand through his hair, glancing around the dusty archives of Room 7B. Castiel stood in the threshold, looking at him critically. Seeing Cas in his own loose fitting clothes and the kicked-puppy expression on his face, Dean was reminded of a sentiment he had been feeling all day: _Damn, I really need a drink._

He brushed past Castiel, motioning for the former angel to follow him. They walked quietly through the foyer, being careful not to wake Sam, even though he highly doubted that the apocalypse itself could wake his sleeping brother at this point. Although he was trying hard no to let it show, his worry for Sam's current condition was eating away at him. When the trials ended, he thought when his brother let it go, he would heal. He was obviously wrong on that front.

Dean walked into the kitchen, Cas following close behind. Cas... Christ, he was going to have to teach the guy how to live as a human. That task was going to fall solely onto his shoulders, with Sam out of commission, and it didn't appear that his friend was currently adjusting well to the constraints of humanity.

Dean grabbed a bottle of bourbon from the cupboard, taking two dusty glasses along with it. He looked over his shoulder at Castiel. "You want a drink, Cas?"

Castiel considered the offer for a moment before nodding slowly. Dean handed him the glass and poured him two fingers of the amber liquid before serving himself double that amount. He drank deeply, reveling the bitter taste and burn in his throat. He needed a little mind-fogging after the past couple of days.

Cas sipped at his own. He knew the angel (_former angel_, he mentally corrected himself) had plenty of experience with liquor, but he had been a celestial being then. He wondered if human Cas would be able to handle his booze as well as angel Cas.

"You're pretty quiet," Dean observed, leaning against the counter. Castiel shrugged his shoulders, his blue eyes distant.

"I have... much on my mind."

"I bet," Dean replied, waiting for him to continue. Castiel frowned.

"Dean?"

"Yeah?" Cas took another draught of his bourbon.

"I'm scared," he told him, voice low with sincerity. Dean blinked in surprised. This wasn't a good sign. He'd seen Castiel afraid before, but only when things were getting world-ending-bloody bad. The fact that he was now, well, that could only really mean one thing, couldn't it? He didn't know what to tell Cas in response, except for the truth.

"I'm scared too, Cas." And he was. He was scared for Sammy, scared for Cas, scared for Kevin, even a little scared for himself. The sky had fallen, and now they had to pick up the pieces. There was a long, long road ahead of them.


	7. My Angel Without Wings

**Chapter 7 - My Angel Without Wings**

_A/N: Thank you to Queen of the Crossroads and twolittlewords for their reviews!_

* * *

After they'd finished their drinks, Dean and Castiel left the kitchen. Dean intended to set Cas up in one of the spare rooms and lend him another pair of clothes that he could wear to bed. However, when they stepped back out into the foyer, he heard voices from the entrance to the bunker, along with the slamming of the steel front door.

Immediately on alert, Dean withdrew his pistol from his holster, aiming it ahead of him. "Get behind me," he said to Cas, who he knew was unarmed. "Who's there?" he called out, eyes darting to Sam's sleeping form on the couch to make sure that he was there and still alright.

"It's me!" a familiar voice echoed from the entrance. It was Garth. "Well, I mean, it's us. Kevin and me."

"About time! You've been gone for over an hour," Dean said, holstering his weapon and moving to intercept Garth and Kevin. Cas fell into step beside him. When they walked into the foyer, he saw that both hunter and prophet were soaked from head to toe. Garth looked tired and slightly annoyed, and Kevin looked just as jack-pissed as he had earlier. Garth had a hand fisted in the fabric of the prophet's hoodie. "Is it raining or something?"

"No," Garth said. "I tackled Kev here into a creek."

"You're lucky you didn't drown me," Kevin snapped, shivering slightly.

"Just for future reference, he's really fast, I've been chasing him like Wiley Coyote for the past hour," Garth shared.

"I understand now, though," Kevin said, jerking himself out of Garth's grip and dropping his sodden duffel bag on the ground with a wet thud. "I'm a prisoner here."

"You're not a prisoner," Dean told him with a sigh. "The fact is, you're a Prophet of the Lord, and that's not a job you can just retire from. Especially when shit like this happens. We need you to translate the angel tablet, and you should know as well as I do that if you run off you're going to have angels and demons after your ass in a heartbeat. Here, you're safe. That's why we gave you the key to the bunker in the first place."

"Guys like us, right?" Kevin asked sarcastically, glaring at Dean with more malice than he'd ever seen in the teen's eyes before. "And now you want me to sleep under the same roof as the demon who killed the only two people in the world that I loved."

"We're dealing with Crowley, alright?" He was just as displeased by Crowley's presence as Kevin, but he knew that it would upset Sam to no end if they kicked the demon out on his ass. Not to mention the fact that Crowley would wreak a hell of a lot less havoc as their prisoner than if he was running amok again. "He's locked in our little demon dungeon right now, he's not exactly the guest of honor. We're just trying to figure out what he is now that he's got some humanity."

Kevin just continued to glare at him. "Can I got to my room now?"

Dean was hit by the weirdest feeling... wasn't that a question that kids were supposed to ask their dads, or something? Dean sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, yeah. Go get some sleep. We'll talk more tomorrow."

Kevin made a beeline for the hallway that led to his room. Dean wished there was something he could to fix the royally fucked-up mess that Kevin's life had become, but quite frankly, that wasn't in his job description. Kevin hadn't volunteered for this, didn't deserve it, but people don't get what they deserve - they just get what they get. It was sad, but true.

"That went well," Garth commented cheerfully. "Well, guys, I'm gonna head out."

Dean eyed the other hunter. "Don't you want to change first, Garth?"

Garth shook his head. "I gotta get going, man. Things are getting bad over in Cleveland. Couple dozen of us have networked, decided to head up there and see if the angels will let us lend a hand. Lesser of two evils, right?"

Dean nodded in understanding. There was a war on, by the sounds of it. He wanted nothing more than to grab the keys to the Impala and follow after Garth in an attempt to get in on the action, to try to change the tide of the sudden battle that had started, but with one glance at Cas and Sam, he knew that he couldn't do that.

"Good luck, dude. Call me if anything big happens."

"You got it," Garth said, tipping the brim of his cowboy hat at them. Without another word, the hunter departed the bunker, the door slamming shut behind him.

"The angels won't let him or any other hunter help," Cas said after a moment of silence. "They are too proud."

"Cas, who do you think's leading the angels? I mean, they've been at each other's throats since Lucifer and Michael got locked in the Cage, and now suddenly they all come together, just like that?"

"I can only guess, but I would say that Anthriel and Nisroc have allied together. They control the largest factions of angels," Cas told him before taking a seat at the large table in the foyer. Dean sank down next to him. Sam was in a deep sleep, and it's not as if he and Cas were talking particularly loud, so he saw no problem with talking in the foyer.

"You mind giving me a crash course on who the hell that is?" Dean asked.

"Nisroc became second in command in the intelligence division after Ion's betrayal," Castiel explained, clasping his hands together in front of him. "Anthriel currently leads the garrison stationed on Earth. She took over after Zachariah's demise. If they somehow formed an alliance and were able to gather all of the angels under their command, they would certainly be a force to be reckoned with."

"If they're doing as much damage as it seems, they must have most if not all of their mojo still intact, even if they don't have their wings," Dean said. He wasn't sure which was worse, the fact that the demons had for some reason decided to rise up in rebellion, or the fact that thousands of super powerful angels were running around, getting ready to fight them.

"Yes."

"What do you think of those two? On a scale of one to Zachariah, how big of a douche bag are they?"

"Anthriel is a faithful warrior of God, if not a bit stiff. I haven't had much personal experience with her, since I haven't been aligned with the angel garrison since she took power," he shared. "I don't know much of Nisroc, but I have learned that angels working closely with Naomi are not to be trusted."

"Great, then," Dean said sarcastically, leaning back in his chair. "We're in a bad way, Cas."

It was an encore of the apocalypse, and they were even more poorly prepared than last time. Cas nodded his head in agreement, his eyelids drooping slightly. The former angel opened his mouth in a quiet yawn. Okay, that was just _weird_. Seeing his superhuman friend do something so... well, _human_, it was a trip.

"You need to get to sleep," Dean said, standing up. Cas mirrored him. "Come on. I'll show you your room."

Cas hadn't slept while he'd been there recovering from his injuries inflicted by Crowley, so he'd never seen one of the many extra rooms in the bunker. Dean made his way down one of the adjacent corridors, Castiel following closely behind him. Dean made a quick stop in his room to grab some clothes for Cas to sleep in. The angel shuffled behind him, looking over the room. "Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Your room... it's very you," Cas told him, seeming genuinely interested by the photo of him and his mother on the night stand.

"Thanks," he replied, not really sure what to make of the statement. "It's nice having my own room. Never really had that luxury before."

"I haven't, either," Cas responded softly. "Though that has never really occurred to me until now."

Dean grabbed a pair of sweat pants and an old Metallica t-shirt that was a little too tight on him and passed it to Cas. "Well, now you do. First time for everything, right?" Castiel accepted the clothes from him, and the two of them left Dean's room and made their way to the one several doors down. Directly next to Dean's room was Sam's, then the one that Kevin had taken as his own. The fourth one in the hallway would be Castiel's.

Dean opened the door, letting Cas go in before him. He stood in the threshold as his friend looked over the room. All it currently had was a dresser, the bed, and a night stand, but he hoped that maybe over time Cas would decorate. What the hell he would decorate with, he wasn't sure.

Cas sat down on the edge of the bed, almost curiously. "Here you go, man. Home sweet home. Try and get a good amount of sleep, tomorrow's gonna be busy. I'll take you clothes shopping, get you some of your own stuff. We've got get some groceries, too. Then we need to work out all this crap with Kevin, Crowley, look into how to get Sammy better... you know. Regroup. Work out a game plan." Castiel didn't respond, simply nodded. "Alright then... night, Cas."

"Goodnight, Dean."

* * *

_He is looking at his own reflection in the mirror. He feels the souls in his body, moving around inside of him, as if he's filled with insects eating away at him. His abdomen burns. He's half convinced that the power of the souls in Purgatory are burning a hole straight through him._

_He brushes his tie out of the way, then unbuttons his clean white dress shirt, revealing the stomach of his vessel, which he's only seen a few times. For a moment, it's normal, but then he sees his skin bubbling underneath. He feels like his body is a cage, and there is a monster more horrible than he's ever imagined trying to crawl out._

_"LET US OUT," the voices in his head scream. "LET US OUT!"_

_The scene changes. Instead of looking at his own reflection, he's looking down at Dean. Dean's face is bloodied, and he's looking up at him with tears of agony and betrayal in his eyes. The hunter grips the sleeve of his trench coat. "This isn't you. Cas, I know you can hear me. I know you can hear me. Cas, it's me. We're family. We need you... I need you."_

_"You have to choose, Castiel! Us, or them!" Naomi commands in his mind, and he feels invisible fingers of steel digging into the side of his skull. "KILL HIM!"_

_But he can't do it. He's practiced hundreds of times, watched his best friend die over and over and over again, but looking down at the real thing, he knows he can't do it. "No... I won't hurt Dean."_

_Dean disappears. Now it's Sam, scrambling back from him. "Y-you're not real!" he insists. He lifts his hand and places it against Sam's forehead._

_"Sam, I'm sorry that I ever did this to you." With that, he extends his Grace to Sam, and he transfers the madness of Hell and the Cage into his own mind. He hears Lucifer's voice next to his ear._

_"It's been awhile, little brother." Everything is black now. He turns to face Lucifer, who stands alone in the darkness. He smirks at him. "How's it feel to fall, Castiel?" he asks, taking a step towards him, eyes ice cold. "You're no better than vermin, now." He grips the side of his face, his fingernails digging in. Castiel whimpers. "You are a filthy bag of pus. Useless. And you're not going to be able to stop Xaphan. He'll destroy mankind. He will continue my mission, and you'll have to sit by and watch while all your human friends are slaughtered like the pigs that they are."_

Castiel bolted up in bed, gasping for breath. His hands flew to his face, checking to make sure that Lucifer's hands weren't there. He kept his eyes open wide, afraid to close them again. He tried desperately to calm his irregular breathing and steady his heart. _What is this?_

Then, he thought of the many nights he had spent watching over Dean as he slept, with or without the hunter's knowledge, and how Dean would awake suddenly. His eyes would be wet, and his heart would be beating wildly in his chest. His eyes would fly incoherently around the room, eventually landing on Sam. Then, he would sink back into his bed, relaxing slightly, but still looking terrified of an invisible enemy.

Nightmares, then. He'd had a nightmare.

After a span of about fifteen minutes, he tried to go back to sleep, but found that it was a fruitless endeavor. Strange noises echoed in the bunker. There was no comforting sound of breathing from Sam, no quiet snores from Dean. There were no windows, no light streaming in from the outside. It was dark, he was alone, and that bothered him so much more than it should.

When the time hit three, he decided that there was no chance of him being able to sleep in his own room. He knew that it would be rude to wake Dean, but fatigue dragged at his limbs and he wanted desperately to close his eyes and let sleep take him, but the emptiness of his own room and the waiting darkness inside of his own mind made the prospect less than favorable.

He rose from his bed, pulling absent-mindedly on the fabric of Dean's t-shirt. On it were rows of white crosses, with the hands of a puppeteer dangling strings over them. The word 'Metallica' was emblazoned over the top. He was of the belief that this was one of the musical groups that Dean listened to. It was comfortable.

Castiel made his way to the door, opening it up and stepping into the corridor. He shivered, the concrete floor ice cold against his feet. He made his way past the rooms that he knew belonged to Sam and Kevin, and paused in front of Dean's. He had liked seeing Dean's room, earlier. He knocked, against his better judgment. "Dean?" he said his friend's name tentatively. There was a groan from within.

"Come in," Dean said, his voice muffled. Cas pressed through into Dean's room, where the oldest Winchester was laying spread-eagle, facedown on his bed. He lifted his head to look at him. "What's up?"

Castiel shuffled awkwardly. "I... uh... I am having issues sleeping."

Dean sat up, giving him a searching look through his sleep-fogged eyes. "Falling asleep or staying asleep?"

"Both, I suppose. I had... nightmares, and I couldn't fall back asleep. The silence was, uh, bothering me." Describing his troubles to Dean was proving more difficult than he originally thought.

"Err..."

Dean pursed his lips and considered him, and Castiel suddenly felt that coming to Dean's room had been a bad idea. He shook his head, turning to leave. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have woken you. I'll see you in the morning."

"Hey, Cas, will you wait a damn minute?" Dean stalled him before his hand could settle on the door. "Listen, if you're having trouble sleeping with no one else in the room, you can bunk with me for the night." Dean then laid down so his head was at the end of the bed and his feet by the headboard. He patted the other side of the bed. "No problem. Sam and I pretty much slept in the same bed until I was eleven or twelve. It'll be nostalgic." Dean gave him what he supposed was probably intended to be a supportive smile, even though it came out as more of an awkward grimace.

"Thank you," Castiel told him, grateful that Dean hadn't sent him away, although he was confused as to why they needed to sleep upside down. Perhaps this was some human custom he was unaware of. He made a mental note to ask Dean about it in the morning.

He laid down carefully next to Dean, making sure that the hunter had enough space to lay in his preferred way without colliding with Castiel. "No, Cas, I meant-" he began when Castiel laid down next to him, head hanging slightly off the foot of the bed, but then rolled his eyes and seemed to decide it unimportant. "Whatever. Alright, try to get some sleep."

Castiel nodded, even though he knew that Dean probably couldn't see him in the semi-darkness of his bedroom. For a few minutes, he just laid there, counting Dean's breaths. Eventually, they became deeper and slower, and Castiel guessed that his friend had fallen asleep. He closed his eyes, a sense of contentment washing over him for the first time since he had become human. Dean's body was warm next to him, and slowly but surely, the even sound of his breathing willed him into a dreamless sleep.


	8. Wake Me Up

**Chapter 8 - Wake Me Up**

* * *

The next morning, Dean was awakened by the sound of his alarm blaring "For Whom the Bell Tolls" nearby at eleven o'clock, just as it was set. By instinct, he threw his hand to the side, searching for the snooze button, but instead found what felt like a nose. _Wait, what the hell? _He opened his eyes, immediately looking next to him. The memory of the night before came back to him when he saw Cas snoozing peacefully at his side.

Right. Cas had been having trouble sleeping. He had a feeling he knew why. One thing angels never had to deal with: nightmares. Cas hadn't exactly had the easiest life, and his was significantly longer than the average human's, which meant more bad memories. When he saw Cas last night, he had been reminded of himself after the angel had rescued him from Hell.

Waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat, just wanting to be near someone so badly, just to know that he wasn't alone, that this was real, that he wasn't back in _that _place. He'd had to resist the urge to clamber into bed next to Sam in the hopes that the sound of his baby brother's snores could keep the night terrors away.

Looking back, he half-wished that he would've done it. He knew it would've made him feel better. If that's what Cas needed now, then so be it. Yeah, okay, maybe it was a little on the gay side bunking with your male best friend, but if Cas needed to sleep next to someone to feel okay, then he wouldn't judge him for it.

Dean threw his legs over the side of the bed, pushing himself out of it with a groan. God, sometimes he woke up and he just felt old - like someone had poured sand in joints. He was well and good into his thirties now, so he supposed that he should expect this kind of thing. He made his way to the other side of the bed, slamming the off button on the alarm before looking back at Cas. How the hell was he still sleeping?

It was trippy seeing Cas sleep. He had hands folded over his stomach, and he was on his back, perfectly straight. He didn't look tense, or angry, or contemplative - he just looked... asleep. Relaxed. He wasn't sure if he had ever seen Cas relaxed before. It was almost a pity that he had to wake him up. He decided that he might as well let him sleep a little while longer. He'd go make breakfast for himself, Sam, Cas and Kevin, then wake him up.

He made his way out of his bedroom and began walking towards the kitchen, stretching languidly. He heard silence from the rest of the bunker, except for... singing?

_"Strange fascination, fascinating me... changes are taking the pace I'm going through..."_

Fucking Crowley.

The accented singing seemed to be coming from the kitchen, and that immediately put Dean on red alert. He cursed himself for having left his gun in his room, but he still had Ruby's knife strapped around his shin, so he wasn't completely defenseless. He only grew more concerned when he saw that Sam was no longer on the couch.

He bent down and removed the knife from its sheath, sprinting towards the kitchen with the weapon gripped firmly in his hand.

_"Ch-ch-ch-Changes, turn and face the stranger, ch-ch-changes, don't tell them to grow up and out- _oh, morning, Squirrel," Crowley greeted as Dean burst into the room, looking around wildly for danger. He was shocked that he found none. Sam was sitting at the table, looking as ill and shaky as he had the night before, but unharmed. He was hunched over, a cup of what appeared to be coffee gripped in his hands.

The position Crowley was in was even more surprising. The King of Hell was in their kitchen, hovering over the stove... cooking what appeared to be scrambled eggs. Now that he had time to stop freaking out, he sniffed the air. It smelled surprisingly good. But, more pressing matters at hand - how the hell did Crowley get out of the dungeon?

"How did you get out of the devil's trap?" he burst out immediately, still gripping his knife in his hand. Crowley smirked at him.

"Moose decided to let me stretch my legs," he explained. "I'm still chained, so don't get your panties in a twist." He held up his hands, which were still bound in the demonic handcuffs Dean had put on him the day before. The chain between them was long enough that Crowley wasn't hindered, but the handcuffs were put on him more with the intention to suppress his powers than keep his hands bound. Crowley arched an eyebrow at him before turning back to the eggs.

Dean's mind was completely stalled in "What the fuck?" mode as he turned to look at his brother. Sam raised a hand in greeting.

"Morning."

He contemplated yelling at Sam for letting Crowley out and then demand that the demon be put back in his place, but looking at Sam, he was surprised that he had even managed to make it to the table in his current state.

"Morning," he replied stiffly, sitting down next to Sam. "How're you feeling?"

Sam grimaced. "Like crap."

He clapped his brother on the shoulder, not entirely sure as to what else he could do. Sam's hands were shaking badly, and his brother's skin was boiling hot. A thin sheen of sweat covered his entire body. _Sammy, I've got to figure out a way to fix you before this thing kills you._

The toaster dinged. Crowley collected the two pieces of toast and placed them on a paper plate. "Okay, what the hell, Crowley! Why are you cooking?"

"Because I can, and because I'm bored. Pick whichever motive is less likely to get that knife in one of my orifices," Crowley responded dryly. "I'm quite the cook, believe it or not."

"Since when do demons know how to cook?"

"I'm over three hundred and fifty years old, I was bound to pick up a domestic skill or two in that time," the demon replied. "And before you ask, no, I haven't poisoned it. Ask Moose, he's been sitting in here the entire time I've been at it."

Dean frowned, glancing sideways at Sam, who nodded in confirmation. This didn't make any sense. He had an angel without wings sleeping in his bed and a demon with humanity cooking him eggs. He really wished that he knew when his life suddenly took a trip to Crazy Town.

"Whatever. Just don't tell Kevin that you made it," he said, sighing slightly.

"I didn't plan on it," Crowley replied. "Go wake up the brat and the angel. This is almost done."

Dean nodded, making his way out of the kitchen and back to his bedroom. Opening his door, he saw that Cas was still asleep. "Hey," he said loudly. Cas groaned slightly. "Breakfast time." Cas opened his eyes, looking over at Dean, then at the clock. "Sleep okay?"

"Yes," Cas responded, slowly rising from the bed with a wince, his hand going to his lower back. "Thank you for letting me sleep in here."

"Don't mention it," he said. "Especially to Sam. He'll never let me live it down." Cas stretched once again, and flinched. "You alright?"

"My limbs are stiff, and they hurt when I move them," Cas supplied, seemingly perplexed and somewhat concerned. Dean almost had to laugh.

"Cas, do you have any idea how old Jimmy was when you possessed him?"

"I believe he was thirty-seven at the time," he responded.

"Well, there you go," Dean told him, turning to head out of his room. "You're human now, man. Means aches and pain. I got 'em too, if it makes you feel any better."

"Why would that make me feel any better?"

"Never mind. Breakfast is on the table. Oh, and heads up, Crowley's out there," he called over his shoulder before making his way to Kevin's door, which he banged on with his fist. "Kev! Come on, grub time!"

"I'm coming," Kevin said, sounding only slightly less pissed than he had the night before. Dean stifled a sigh. They were going to have to figure out what was to be done about Crowley. They could keep him here permanently, but there was really no point to it. Crowley kept the demons in order. He was more useful in Hell than here, especially now with the angels falling. Crowley needed to reign his troops in. He privately damned his brother's sudden concern for the demon's well-being.

Back in the kitchen, Dean seated himself at the kitchen table between Cas and Sam. Crowley had the good sense to have everything set out already, having cleansed any sign that he was the one who prepared the meal. He was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, apparently not planning on eating himself.

Dean looked up at the demon suspiciously. Crowley smirked at him, as if to say, _"Scared, Winchester?"_

Defiantly, he took a bite. He was surprised that the eggs tasted fairly good. He was still lost on how Crowley learned to cook. Castiel was already tearing into his food without hesitation. He wasn't surprised. Sam picked at his own food. A few minutes later, Kevin emerged from his room, seating himself on Castiel's other side. His eyes found Crowley's, and his lip curled in the most obvious display of outright spite he'd ever seen from the prophet.

"Shouldn't you be in the nifty demon torture dungeon?" he asked. Crowley met his gaze, unflinching.

"They decided to let me out for a walk," Crowley responded evasively.

Kevin seemed to contemplate taking his fork and stabbing Crowley repeatedly, but instead decided to duck his head and attend to his meal. Dean felt a wash of relief. It was way too early for this shit.

"What's on the agenda for the day?" Sam asked hoarsely after about fifteen minutes had passed. He dropped his fork, his eggs barely touched. His hand went to his stomach, and he looked as though he was going to be sick.

"Well, you need to rest," Dean said. "Cas and I are going to head into town and pick him up some necessities, then go grocery shopping. Kevin, you need to get started on the angel tablet today, man."

"Whatever," Kevin answered, shoving his plate away and standing up before stalking off to his room.

"Great," Dean muttered. "And Crowley, you are going to go back to the dungeon, and you're going to _stay there_."

"Going to have to stop you there, because I'm not going to willingly go back in your lovely little torture box," Crowley informed him.

"Oh, the hell you aren't!" Dean replied, standing up. "We are not letting you run around this place."

"I've been running around since the sun came up, darling," Crowley replied evenly. "Damage is done."

Cas stood as well, squaring his shoulders. "You _will _go back in the devil's trap."

Crowley quirked his head at Castiel and smirked. "Too bad you can't make me. Damn shame about you being Graceless, really." Before Dean could finish removing Ruby's knife from the deep pocket of his sweats, Crowley held up a hand.

"Notice your brother? How he's sweating like a pig and looks like he's going to vomit all over that nice mahogany table?" Crowley asked, nodding towards Sam, who didn't say anything to contest the statement. "The Littlest Prophet is going to be pouring over the rock with the scribbles on it, and someone's going to have to make sure Moose doesn't keel over while you're away."

"You think I'm going to trust you alone with Sam?" Dean asked incredulously.

"Dean," Sam grunted, lifting his head. He looked at his brother. _God, Sam, you look so sick. _"I can take care of myself for an afternoon. I'm not an invalid."

"Oh, really? 'Cause right now, you sure look like one." He could tell by the hurt look on Sam's face that he had overstepped his bounds, but damn it, his baby brother looked like he was dying, and he didn't have half a clue how to fix him. This wasn't something he could just salt and burn, he couldn't just kick it in the ass, it was something invisible and terrible that was eating away at Sam.

Crowley flinched visibly, putting a hand over his chest as if something was paining him. Dean was confused when he detected no mocking in the gesture. Sam and Dean both turned to him. "No, please, go back to your family spat. I'm peachy."

"There is no spat," Sam said flatly. "Dean, go with Cas. I'll be fine. Leave me Ruby's knife; if he tries anything, I'll kill him."

"In your weakened state, Sam, I'm not sure that would be as easy as you think," Cas said.

"May I remind you that he's not the only one running on fumes?" Crowley said. "Thanks to your little experiment on me and these bloody handcuffs, I'm practically impotent."

"Yeah, well, still. I think a strong breeze is enough to kill Sam, at this point," Dean grouched in response, but Crowley did have a point. He was weakened, and if he gave Sam the knife, Crowley would think twice about attacking him. But, this still put Sam alone with Crowley, and he didn't like the idea of his brother being alone with the demon again.

"Dean, I'll be fine. Just go, okay?"

Looking between Sam and Crowley, he knew that this was an argument he wasn't going to be able to win. He sighed, taking his, Cas, Kevin and Sam's dishes and depositing them in the sink. He turned to Crowley, stepping into the demon king's personal space. Crowley, thoroughly unintimidated, just looked up at him with an expression of mild indifference.

"You touch Sam, and I swear to God, I will end you, humanity or not," Dean said, his voice laced with venom. Crowley gave him a sardonic smile.

"Understood. Crystal clear," he replied.

Following that, Dean departed the kitchen, Cas trailing behind him, seeing displeased with his decision to allow Crowley to stay with Sam. "Are you sure this is wise?" Cas asked as Dean handed him his usual outfit of black suit, blue tie, and overcoat, which he had thrown into the washer the previous night.

"No, but what's new?" Dean said, exiting the room so Cas could change. He then retreated to his own room, donning jeans and a t-shirt, accompanied by his father's leather jacket. He met Cas back in the foyer when he was finished. It was somewhat comforting to see the former angel dressed in his usual holy ad salesman get-up, although he had foregone the tie, which was hanging limply in his hand. "No tie?"

"I am unsure of how to properly put it on."

And so, for the next ten minutes, Dean taught an angel of the Lord how to properly tie a tie. When he was done, Castiel was looking much more put together than usual since his tie was actually on properly for once, though his hair was a haphazard mess. Dean retrieved a brush from the bathroom and handed it to him. "Your hair's a wreck, dude."

Castiel nodded, putting the brush to his short dark hair and dragging it downward. He winced. "Is this supposed to be painful?"

"No. You're pressing too hard."

Cas nodded again before obediently lifting the pressure he was putting on the brush. Dean watched as his friend slowly but surely brushed his hair for the first time. When he was done, the two of them went to depart the Men of Letters bunker. He glanced back at Sam, who was on the couch, a lore book clutched in his hand. Crowley was hovering nearby, examining the console that provided the locations of the devil's gates and demonic omens.

"We're heading out."

"You'll be sorely missed," Crowley replied, his eyes not leaving the electronic map. Dean promptly ignored him. Sam looked up from his book and gave him what he supposed was intended to be a smile, but came out as more of a pained grimace.

"We'll be here."

Casting one last glance at his ailing brother, and already feeling guilty for leaving Sam, he and Castiel departed, making their way out of the bunker and to the parked Impala. The main outlet mall in Lebanon was only about four miles away, so they didn't have a long drive.

Castiel was mostly silent, staring out the window with an expression of both curiosity and melancholy. He hoped that Cas remembered his offer of a listening ear if he needed to talk, but Cas had never been the pour-your-heart out type. He didn't know if it was his upbringing as an emotionless angel, or the fact that the only human he'd really spent an extensive amount of time with was him, and he was about as emotionally repressed as they came. He briefly wondered if he'd set a bad example for Cas.

The silence was broken when they arrived at the strip mall. He turned off the car and looked sideways at Cas, who was looking at the Sears sign with something almost akin to trepidation.

He had to shake his head in exasperated humor. He was about to take the Angel of Thursday clothes shopping. _Our lives are weird. _


	9. What You Become

**Chapter 9 - What You Become**

_A/N: Thank you to yukio87, cassbutt, and twolittlewords for their reviews!_

* * *

The minute Dean and Cas were out of the bunker, Crowley turned to Sam. "You care to tell me what in the name of Hell of that was?" he asked. The younger Winchester looked up from his lore book, brow furrowing with confusion.

"What do you mean?"

"Back in the kitchen, when you and Squirrel were arguing. I felt like something hit me," He tapped the center of his chest. "Hard. It was emotion, not one that I could really discern, and it definitely wasn't my own. Since you're the only one I'm currently sharing blood with, I'm guessing it came from you."

"You felt my emotions?" Sam said, sitting up quickly. He seemed to immediately regret the action, as he coughed hard into his hand. "How?"

"It must be the blood," Crowley replied, playing with his bottom lip. This was getting intriguing. Troubling, but intriguing. "Some kind of connection's formed between the two of us." He walked briskly to stand behind the couch, putting his hands on the back and looking down at Sam. "Think. When you feel strong pain, the attacks from the trials - I feel it as well. Then, back there, when I'm guessing big brother made you feel woefully inadequate, I felt it."

"But I haven't felt anything from you," Sam said. "Well, except for this morning. There was this... tingling sensation. In my temples." He motion around the aforementioned area for emphasis.

Crowley shuddered at the thought of this morning. After the oldest Winchester had left him in the dungeon to stew in his own distinctly unpleasant, condemning thoughts, he'd made it his mission to escape. He hadn't been bound to the chair inside of the devil's trap. His hands were still cuffed, but they didn't restrain his movement much. Experimentally, he'd tested for weaknesses in the devil's trap. He been surprised that he was able to scrape some of the paint off of the floor with a fingernail, something that he hadn't previously been able to do. This could only mean that his demonic essence was weakened, and he didn't enjoy the thought of that at all.

Crowley left the dungeon quickly. Squirrel, in his arrogance, had left the door unlocked. He found himself in a room filled with old files. From there, he departed out into one of the main corridors. The first thing he saw was Sam, about ten feet away, lying motionless on the floor.

Crowley had rushed to his side to find Sam laying face down, a small pool of blood pooling around his mouth. He had dragged him back to the couch, laying him down carefully. He'd been barely coherent, trying to speak, but his words came out as haggard coughs.

He'd cleaned Sam's blood up off of the floor, and for reasons he wasn't about to dive into, he'd sat at the Winchester's side through the early morning hours, wiping the sweat from his head and the blood from his mouth, bringing him water and helping him to the kitchen when he requested coffee. He'd insisted that the boy eat, even though he'd been less than willing.

It had seemed familiar, and that caused a pit to form in his stomach. Had he cared for an ill person in his human life?

Regardless, being with a sick Sam was far better than being alone in the dungeon, absorbed by memories, by horrible recollections of what he'd done. The screams, his own laughter, ringing in his ears, taunting him. The feel of the blood of the innocent on his hands, and his one-track thoughts of forgiveness, of redemption, even though he knew that he had been too far gone for that for centuries.

"Have you ever seen something like this before?" Sam asked, interrupting his thoughts.

"No," he replied, shaking his head. "Not between a demon and a human, anyway. A human and a human, sure, black witches have had their phases with blood magic, but we're two different species. This shouldn't even be possible."

"Well, apparently, it is," Sam said. "I don't know how I feel about this."

"You've got the bloody library of congress in here," Crowley responded with a shrug. "Research blood magic, see about finding a way to break the connection. Once I can leave - if I'm allowed to, that is - I'll see if some of my more shady associates know anything more."

"How is your mojo, by the way?" Sam inquired. Crowley sighed heavily. _Not nearly as strong as I'd like._

"I think I'd probably be able to teleport myself a state over if I really focused, but that's not enough to get me down to Hell. Until then, you're stuck with me, darling," he said, but then amended his statement. "Curious thing, actually, you convincing Squirrel to not only drag me along to your bat cave, but to let me baby-sit you for the day. Why?"

Sam shifted slightly, setting the book down on the coffee table. "Because I could tell that you'd changed, even if you weren't human. I could see it..." The hunter looked away. "I could see it in your eyes, I guess. You were crying. You were talking about love and forgiveness... you offered me your neck, you _wanted _to be saved. I was the one who did that to you, so, you're my responsibility as long as you're not one hundred percent."

"I'm your responsibility?" Crowley asked with a hint of amusement. "Really, it's feeling more like the other way around."

Sam let out a weak laugh, sinking back against the cushions. "Yeah, yeah..."

"Go to sleep, Moose," Crowley said, his tone soft. "You need it." The hunter fell asleep quickly. Crowley sat down on the coffee table, watching him as he slept. Forty-eight hours ago, he would've given just about anything to kill Sam Winchester. Now he was practically watching over him.

He would've laughed, if the whole notion wasn't so bloody ridiculous.

* * *

He was relieved that Cas, at the very least, had decent taste in clothing. It was a little swanky for Dean's blood, but at least he hadn't gone for tight jeans and v-necks or something. He was into button-ups, and apparently, Cas really liked the color blue, as six of the seven shirts he picked out were some shade of blue, though Dean had managed to convince him that he should throw in a red one as well. "Chicks dig red," he had said by way of explanation.

Cas had proceeded to ask why he should worry about the opinions of infant chickens.

Cas also liked khakis. Cas had picked out _eight pairs _of khakis. Dean could only assume it was because it matched the color of his trench coat.

"Dude, I'm all for you picking what you want, but you've got to put some of these back. You need jeans, too." Cas had nodded and reluctantly placed some of the pants back on the shelf.

Cas also decided that, like Jimmy, he preferred boxers to briefs. Dean told him that he was proud of him and meant it. Only pansies wore briefs.

By the time they had finished (and bled several of Dean's fake credit cards dry), Cas had a full wardrobe, which he quietly thanked Dean for paying for, even if the money wasn't actually his. Back in the Impala, they drove to Lebanon's local Wal-Mart and bought enough groceries to get the four of them (Sam, himself, Cas and Kevin - Crowley didn't need food, obviously) through the week. Castiel was helpful enough, but he did form an odd habit of sniffing all of the fruit. ("It smells pleasant," he'd said).

Afterwards, they drove to a nearby McDonald's for a quick fast food dinner. Cas didn't know what he personally would like, so he just ordered what Dean got - a double bacon cheeseburger.

Cas liked bacon.

He was strongly reminded of when he would take Sammy clothes shopping for school each year. John would give them a credit card and send them on their way to a secondhand clothes outlet. Dean would often skimp on getting new stuff for himself so Sam could have more. He was shooting up like a weed at the time, after all, and Dean's hand-me-downs weren't becoming on the kid.

Cas was more talkative on the way back to the bunker, asking questions about things he'd seen at the mall or the restaurant, trying to better understand the society he had just been forced to be a part of. He was like an inquisitive child, in a way, but even when his questions were ridiculous they were delivered in Cas' typical deadpan manner. It was amusing and exasperating at the same time.

However, the entire day, worries about his brother nagged at him, so much that he had called in to check on Sam four times by the time they'd finished shopping, with the other hunter getting more and more irritated with each call.

"Dean, I am sitting on the couch, reading through a book on angel lore, just like I was when you called an hour ago. Crowley has not tried to kill me and Kevin is safely in his room working on the angel tablet. You don't need to keep checking in on me." That had been about an hour ago.

Needless to say, he was happy to be heading home, so he could stop having mini-heart attacks as mental images of Crowley stabbing Sam to death played through in his mind's eye.

Soon, they were making their way into the foyer, each of them cradling several bags of Cas' new clothes. They crossed the threshold into the foyer, and Dean's eyes immediately went to the couch. Sam was still there, but his eyes were screwed shut and sweat dripped down his forehead. He pallor was almost gray, and he was shaking violently. Crowley was at his side, a bucket held aloft in one hand, a damp washcloth in the other.

Dean immediately dropped the bags he was carrying on the large table in the foyer and raced towards his brother, Cas following close behind. "Sammy?" Dean said. Crowley looked up, and Dean was startled by how the demon looked. Dean had known Crowley for years now, and he had never once looked anything but what he was: a king, whether it be of the Crossroads or Hell itself. However, right now, Crowley looked well and truly _old_.

"Dean?" Sam coughed, opening his eyes to look at his brother. "You're home."

"Man, Sam, what the hell?" He stooped down next to his brother, putting a hand on his shoulder. Crowley backed silently out of the way.

"I had an attack, just a little bit before you walked in," Sam said. "I'm f-fine, I just... I just need a sec..." he said before breaking into a coughing fit. Blood leaked out of the corner of his mouth, and Sam's eyes went out of focus. He sagged back, dragging in gasps, his chest rising and falling erratically.

Dean cursed, clueless on what to do, and that made him hate the situation even more.

"I need to speak with you," Crowley said sharply, and without a hint of sarcasm in his tone, something that surprised Dean. He turned to look at the demon. He took in the bucket of cold water, the trash can next to the couch filled with bloody tissues, the thermometer and empty soup bowl on the coffee table. Dean realized with a jolt that Crowley had actually been taking care of Sam throughout the day. "_Now."_

Guilt swept over him like a wave; he'd actually left his sick brother alone all day, left him to be taken care of by a demon.

"I will stay with Sam," Castiel offered from where he stood by the table.

"I d-don't need to be looked after... I'm-"

"I swear to God, Sam, if you say you're fine one more time I'm going to punch you in the nose," Dean snapped, even though he knew he was being a hypocrite. How many times had insisted he was fine when he was dying on the inside?

Crowley grabbed him by the sleeve and forcibly dragged him out of the room and into the corridor that led to their bedrooms. Dean shirked him off, glaring at the demon. "What?" he snapped.

"Sam's in a bad way. I'm going to assume that you realize that he's not going to just bounce back on his own."

Dean stiffened. Crowley wanted to talk about Sam's health? What did the demon care? But, then again, it seemed as though Crowley had been taking care of Sam while he and Castiel were out... but why, that's what he kept wondering. Why would Crowley help Sam? Did his humanity suddenly turn him into a compassionate person? He didn't think it was possible.

"Yeah. I've figured that much out for myself."

"I have a solution. Or at least a temporary one," Crowley shared, shoving his hands in the pockets of his suit jacket. "Since you like to play mother hen, I thought I should bring it up to you instead of Moose, who you seem to think is incapable of making his own decisions."

"If you've got a point, make it."

Crowley arched an irritated eyebrow. "There's just no foreplay with you, is there?" He flicked his eyes to the doorway, as if to make sure that they were truly alone. "Fine. I think if we get Sam back on the good stuff, it'll keep him from getting worse. Probably improve his condition significantly, as well."

"The good stuff?" Dean echoed. Crowley couldn't be suggesting what he thought he was...

"You know damn well what I'm talking about," Crowley said. "Demon blood. Moose's drug of choice, from what I hear. Admirable trick Ruby pulled, getting him hooked on the stuff."

"Oh, _hell_ no," Dean burst out. "You think I'm going to let you get my little brother hyped up on demon bitch blood? After what happened last time? I've had to see him detox twice, and each time..." his voice faltered. "No. Just no. No friggin' way, Crowley."

"Will you think about this rationally for five seconds?" Crowley replied. "Would you rather have a demon-blood addicted Sam, or a dead one? That's the choice your making here, whether he lives or dies."

"There's got to be another way!" he exclaimed. "There has to be. I'll find it. There is no way in hell I'm putting him back on that crap."

"You're judgment's clouded," Crowley said, crossing his arms and leveling an icy glare at Dean. "If you'd stop and look at the big picture-"

"Right, right - it's all because of our 'biggest handicap'," Dean hissed, quoting what Crowley had said right before he and Sam had captured him. "Our humanity. Well, how does it feel riding the short bus with the rest of us?"

Crowley's eyes flashed with anger, and he stepped threateningly close to Dean, invading his personal space. "Thanks to your Moose, I may have humanity, but let me make one thing clear, Winchester. I. Am. Not. Human," he emphasized each word, his voice a dangerous whisper.

Dean didn't back down, taking another step towards Crowley. "Oh, believe me, I never stopped remembering exactly what you are for a second. You're Hell spawn."

"I'm not just Hell spawn - I'm _the_ Hell spawn, darling," Crowley retorted without missing a beat. "And you'd do well to remember that. Now, how about instead of standing here, arguing with me, you listen to one of the only other people on Heaven, Hell, or Earth that gives a rat's ass about your brother!"

Dean's fists clenched at his side. How dare this demon act like he cared about Sam? Cared about what was wrong or right for him? Whether he lived or died? "And you just expect me to buy the fact that you suddenly give a crap about Sam? You've been trying to kill us for the past year!" he was shouting now, and he didn't care. The frustration of the past couple of day's was catching up with him like a fright train.

"Not much for long-term memory, are you?" Crowley growled. "Who helped you stop the apocalypse? _Me. _Who helped you take out Castiel when he turned into an unstable megalomaniac? _Me_. Who helped you stop Dick and his cronies? _Me_! ARE YOU NOTICING A TREND, HERE? WHO GOES TO THE BAT FOR YOU EVERY DAMN TIME YOU MORONS NEARLY BLOW UP THE WORLD!?" Crowley's eyes flashed their Crossroads red glare, and he grabbed Dean by the collar, lifting him easily into the air and promptly shoving him back against the wall."ME!" he yelled once more.

Before Dean could try and break free of Crowley's grip, he heard the sound of someone clearing their throat. Dean's eyes went to the archway into the corridor, where Sam was standing with Castiel's help.

"What's going on?"


	10. Fix You

**Chapter 10 - Fix You**

_A/N: Thank you to awesomesauce101, Sacred649, and twolittlewords for their reviews! :)_

* * *

Crowley and Dean both stared at Sam and Castiel for a few moments before either of them did anything. Crowley didn't put Dean down. He'd let his temper get the best of him, but he did enjoy the emasculation that Dean surely felt from the fact that his 5' 8" vessel was holding him up with one hand.

"Moose," Crowley greeted, his breathing starting to return to normal. "How nice of you to join us. How about you tell your brother how much you like living, huh?"

Castiel tilted his head curiously, but remained silent. Sam furrowed his brow. "Put him down," the youngest Winchester said slowly. He looked better than he had a few minutes before, but if Castiel hadn't been holding him up, he doubted that he would be standing.

Sam had been okay for most of the day, but shortly before Dean and Castiel had arrived back at the bunker, Sam had another attack. After Crowley had recovered from his own dose of the trials thanks to their newly discovered blood connection, he'd attended to Sam, whom the aftershocks affected much more profoundly. He was having roughly two attacks a day - by the time he'd recovered from one, he was plagued by another.

If they didn't get Sam some kind of help, he wasn't going to last through the summer. Thanks to the newfound humanity he was barely adjusting to, he found that Sam's death was not something he wanted. That would be unacceptable.

"Fine." Crowley eventually acquiesced to Sam's request, dropping Dean back on his feet. The hunter glared at him, straightening his collar where Crowley had grabbed him.

"Dean, what's he talking about?" Sam asked, eyes flicking to his brother.

"Nothing," Dean responded a little too quickly. _Oh, is that what they're calling it nowadays?_

"Your brother and I are having a debate over how to keep you from biting it while we find away to permanently erase the trials from your system," Crowley informed Sam. This earned him a steely glare from Dean

"He wants to give you demon blood," Dean said.

Sam's eyes widened, and the giant shook his head adamantly. "No. No way. Not again, I can't."

Crowley sighed heavily."Do you like being able to barely stand, out of curiosity? This is the only thing on Hell or Earth that I can think of that could remotely help you."

Sam swallowed, still looking incredibly put off by the idea. "Do you want me to drink yours...?" he asked tentatively.

He looked at Sam for a long moment, trying to communicate to him silently that his blood wouldn't do him any good. After all... Sam's poisoned blood was running through his veins. He couldn't say that in front of Dean, however, so he came up with another explanation. "No. You get some of my blood in your system, and you'll hulk out and kill the lot of us. You need something tamer - a Crewman Jones type demon, get me? Not like they're hard to find."

"No," Sam reiterated. "I'd rather stay sick than drink demon blood. Plus, capturing demons for me to drain, it would draw too much attention to this area. And considering Cas is public enemy number one right now, that's not a good idea." Sam looked out of breath when he finished. He leaned more on Castiel, who Sam seemed to have forgotten was no longer and angel and therefore no longer had super strength.

"This isn't about risk, it's not about right and wrong," Crowley said. "It's about survival."

"There may be another way."

Dean and Crowley looked at Cas, who had spoken for the first time since he and Sam had entered the corridor. The ex-angel looked grave. Crowley arched and eyebrow at him.

"And what's that? Prayer? Hoping real hard?" Crowley asked sarcastically.

"No," Castiel said. "There have been rumors since I killed Raphael..." He pursed his lips. "Rumors that Gabriel was resurrected."

Dean and Sam's eyes widened. Crowley had to admit, even he was a bit surprised. Of course, he'd found out about the whole incident with Gabriel and the gods from the coin he'd planted in the Impala after he'd first met the Winchesters. He'd suspected that it wouldn't be the last the world saw of the rogue archangel, but no one had heard a thing from the faux-Trickster in almost six years.

"Gabriel might still be kicking?" Dean asked incredulously. "Lucifer gutted him with an angel blade."

"Some in the intelligence division believe that an archangel has to exist as a kind of balance for the Heavenly Host," Castiel shared. "Gabriel would be the most likely to be brought back. There have been supposed sightings, strings of murders done in a whimsical manner that matches his MO." He winced slightly under Sam's weight, then continued. "An archangel would be able to heal Sam, I'm confident of that much. There is very little that they can't do."

"So, we find Gabriel and convince him to help Sam..." Dean's gaze went distant as he seemed to fully comprehend what Castiel had said. "There's no guarantee he'd help us."

"Exactly," Crowley interjected before Dean could say more. "Demon blood is a surefire solution."

"_But_," Dean emphasized, tossing him an irritated look. "It's the best plan we've got, so I say we go for it. It's a good square one to start from. Not to mention Gabriel could probably put a pretty big dent in this Xaphan guy."

"If Gabriel faced Xaphan, he would be victorious. No matter how strong Xaphan is, there's barely a thing on Heaven, Hell, or Earth that can take out an archangel," Castiel agreed.

"This is idiotic," Crowley pressed, looking back and forth between the Winchesters. They couldn't possibly think that this was the plan they should be going with? He'd been counting on Dean to throw all reason and caution to the wind and do whatever it would take to keep Sam alive, like he was so famous for doing. This was unexpected, and he wasn't a fan of surprises. "This is a shot in the damn dark, and you know it."

"Dean's right, Crowley," Sam said before his brother had a chance to issue a retort. "We can't risk me going back on demon blood. I barely survived the last detox-"

"Then don't detox!" Crowley burst out. "Stay on it! If the angels are running around, then why not have some extra juice? Were you really that bad off when you were getting high on the stuff the first time? You could exorcise demons with your _mind_, for sin's sake." Oh, the helpful things he'd learned from his listening device in the Impala.

"He was turning into the things that we spend our lives trying to hunt down!" Dean exclaimed. "His eyes, after he killed Lilith, they turned black. He was turning into a monster."

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "I can't go back there. I'm not proud of the things I did when I was drinking it. It changed me." _"I turned my back on Dean when I was drinking the crap... I never want that to happen again."_

Crowley blinked. Sam's lips hadn't been moving when he'd said that. So how did he hear that? He furrowed his brow, but Dean took the advantage of his quiet.

"We'll start looking around for signs of Gabriel. Trickster omens. Then we find him, convince him to help us. How hard could it be?" Dean held up his hands. "Not like we haven't done more with less."

"If we're done here," Castiel managed. "I don't think I can hold you up for much longer, Sam."

Sam looked at Castiel, and he seemed mildly surprised. The Winchesters were still growing accustomed to Castiel not being a superhero, it seemed. "Sorry, Cas. I... I think I can walk back to the couch on my own," he said, giving Castiel what Crowley could only assume was intended to be a reassuring smile.

Castiel reluctantly released Sam, who was unsteady on his feet for a moment before drawing himself up to his full height. _"Since when has standing been an accomplishment?"_

There it was again! He'd definitely heard Sam speak, but his lips _had not moved_. He felt a sinking in his stomach. This could only mean that the blood connection between himself and Sam was deeper than he'd originally thought. He was beginning to catch stray thoughts from the younger Winchester.

Sam moved slowly out of the corridor and back into the foyer, and Castiel followed close behind, slightly out of breath, but seeming intent on making sure that Sam made it back to the couch without collapsing. Dean went to tail them, but he stopped about a foot away from Crowley, turning to face him.

"I don't know what's going on with you," Dean said. "I don't know how much of you is human and how much of you is still a demon. Fact is: I don't trust you. So if you try to sneak Sam some of the 'good stuff', I will personally rip your throat out. Got that?"

"You should really be watching who you threaten, Squirrel," Crowley snarled. Just because he had humanity, just because he wasn't out for their blood anymore, that didn't mean that he'd let Dean misunderstand his place.

"_Are we clear_?" Dean repeated, his face so close to Crowley's he could feel the hunter's breath on his face.

Crowley had a sarcastic remark ready to leave his mouth, but he thought better of it. For now, he had lost this battle. Fine. They'd search for Gabriel. And when Sam fell further into his illness and there were no options left, then Dean would listen to him. Then he'd be proven right.

"Crystal."

In all honesty, he didn't want Sam on demon blood much more than Dean did. He'd heard tell of Sam's escapades with Ruby the year before Lucifer was released from his various flies on the wall. It hadn't been pretty. Birdies said that towards the end, Sam was starting to toe the line between demon and man. _Hmm, that's something I can sympathize with_, he thought with a thrill of disgust.

Without further ado, Dean stalked out of the room, leaving him standing alone. He was surprised that Dean had yet to force him back into the dungeon he'd spent most of the night in. Perhaps it was a silent thank you for watching over Sam. He'd seen the way Dean's eyes had fixed on him when he first came in, a kind of begrudging amazement. He planned to be sticking by Sam until they knew better the details of the blood connection, so he'd rather the oldest Winchester hurried up to getting around to viewing him as an ally instead of an enemy.

Crowley sighed, running a hand through his hair. This connection between himself and Sam was getting worrisome. He'd been sure that he'd actually heard Sam's thoughts during the argument with Dean. This was something deeper than he'd originally imagined. He didn't like this. It was getting too messy, too complicated, and he couldn't maintain the objectivity he once had. He couldn't be the utter, self-serving bastard that he once was. No, his damned humanity, his fucking _conscience_ - he almost shuddered at the thought - it prevented him from doing so.

Messy... he didn't like messy.

* * *

Dean finally insisted on Sam going to his room, where he'd have more room to stretch out and a smaller chance of being woken up. Once he'd gotten his younger brother tucked in, he'd come to Castiel's new room, his green eyes tinted with concern that seemed to be weighing him down like a lead weight.

Castiel was carefully folding his new clothes and placing them inside of the drawers of the empty dresser, sorting his shirts into one, his pants into another, and his pajamas and underwear into a third. He couldn't imagine changing his clothes every single day, since he'd only changed about three times in the entirety of his time in Jimmy's vessel.

He liked the clothes that he and Dean had picked out. He'd valued Dean's input. He wanted to be able to pass for a human... he had to, if he intended to take up hunting with Sam and Dean, which at present was the current and silent agreement. They hadn't talked about what would become of him now that he was no longer an angel of the Lord.

A part of him was frightened that they would abandon him now, leave him now that he was useless. He couldn't appear at their sides with just the call of his name, he couldn't heal their wounds, he couldn't fix things any longer. He was nothing, and he hated himself for that.

And yet, Dean was still with him. For the first time in... he couldn't even remember how long, he and Dean had been around each other consistently for days, and Dean hadn't raised his voice to him, not once. That made him happy. He hated when Dean yelled at him. The harsh accusation and hurt in his voice, that sound - there was nothing like it. The only noise he'd ever found that he truly detested.

He was wondering how long it would last before Dean and Sam realized that there was no longer any purpose or benefit to having him in their lives. It couldn't be long, now. Maybe after Sam was healed, maybe then Dean had time to breathe and time to think, time to realize that he wasn't worth his friendship anymore, they'd rid themselves of him. Castiel's transgressions could be overlooked before when they needed him, but now...

Dean temporarily dragged him from these thoughts. He cleared his throat, and Castiel turned around, staring at the hunter. "Is Sam alright?" he asked tentatively. Dean merely pursed his lips in response.

"Depends on your definition of alright," Dean replied pensively. He leaned against the door threshold, watching him. Castiel decided that if Dean wanted to talk about Sam's illness, he would, so he went back to his task, occasionally glancing at Dean out of the corner of his eye.

Sam's ordeal was troubling him as well. Sam was a good friend, one of the few he had. When Dean had been reticent to forgive him, Sam had always been much quicker to accept him back into the fold, to show concern, to offer comfort. He was glad that Sam was in his life, in spite of his opinion of the younger Winchester when he'd first met him. He and Dean... they were very different, in spite of being brothers. They were a contrast. It was nice to have both ends of the spectrum.

Castiel finished putting away his clothes, sliding his drawers shut quietly before looking towards Dean, who was still watching him intently. "You seem troubled," Castiel observed, walking towards his friend. "We can begin searching for Gabriel immediately. He does leave discernible patterns, for those who are looking."

"Yeah," Dean murmured, crossing his arms. "Yeah. I know. It's just..." He shook his head. "Never mind."

Castiel opened his mouth to respond, but he was interrupted by the sound of quick footsteps nearby. A second later, Kevin appeared in the hallway, eyes wild and a thick sheaf of notes in his hand. "Guys," he breathed. "The ritual. I figured out the ritual - spell, whatever - that sealed Heaven shut."

"You figured that out already?" Dean asked. Kevin nodded.

"There's a lot of stuff on it, it's pretty extensive, but it's easier to decipher than the demon tablet."

"Well, what's it say?" Dean inquired. Kevin looked down at his notes.

"Okay, I paraphrased a little so it's more in layman's terms-"

"Kev."

"Sorry," Kevin said. The prophet cleared the throat.

"'Let it be known that there is a way to expel all of the heavenly beings from Paradise. A spell, an incantation, that can only be performed by three acts. First, the slaying of a nephilim - an abomination, the offspring of angel and man, a being that should never come to be. Secondly, the securing of the bow of the lowest order of angels, a cupid's bow.'"

Castiel suppressed a sigh. They already knew this. He appreciated the work that Kevin had put into deciphering the tablet, in spite of his discontent with their current living situation, but they needed new information more than anything.

Kevin continued, lip twitching slightly. "'Finally, an angel must be rendered mortal, rendered man. This cannot be just any angel, but..." Kevin trailed off, eyes darting to Castiel for a second. "'but a seraph. His Grace must be ripped from his body, and replaced with a human soul. He must fall to Earth and live amongst men for the spell to be complete. The angels will fall, every one, any and all will be separated from their wings and forced to walk the Earth. This spell is irreversible _unless_...'" Kevin grinned before continuing. "'Unless the Holy Trials are performed.'"

_Unless the Holy Trials are performed. _Dean looked at Castiel with wide eyes, his expression something akin to hope.

This could be fixed. They could fix this.


	11. Hope

**Chapter 11 - Hope**

_A/N: Thank you to yukio87 and twolittlewords for their reviews!_

* * *

"So there's a way to fix all of this crap?" Dean asked immediately. "The Holy Trials - they can stick the angels back in Heaven?"

"Yeah, yeah. As far as I can tell. The next part, it's not about the angel trials, but I think the part after that is all the specifics. I just thought you'd want to know that there's a possible light at the end of the tunnel," Kevin provided, tucking his notes under his arm. "I don't know how long it will take me, but I'll try to hurry."

Dean's mind was reeling. They could fix this. This was huge. He hadn't expected a revelation like this so soon, and the pessimist in him didn't really expect it at all. He sagged against the wall, feeling almost relieved. Another set of trials wasn't something he wanted to think about, but the fact that they could do something, that meant more than anything.

He was surprised also by Kevin's demeanor. The prophet seemed to have cooled down significantly since breakfast. He was more like his usual self. Perhaps throwing himself back into deciphering the tablets had distracted him from Crowley's presence in the Men of Letters bunker.

"This is good," Dean said. "But I want the entire thing translated before we start them, this time. I don't want to get to the end and have the surprise 'oh, by the way, you die' part again."

"Okay," Kevin agreed. "I'm going to get back to it."

"You hungry?" Dean inquired. He had to make sure he monitored how often the teen was sleeping and eating. He didn't want Kevin to start having paranoid delusions again. Maintaining the prophet's sanity was crucial.

Kevin shrugged. "I could eat."

"Alright, I'll bring you something," Dean said, and Kevin nodded before disappearing back to his bedroom. Dean looked at Castiel, who seemed somewhat stunned. He was staring into the distance, brow furrowed. Dean waved a hand in front of the ex-angel's face. Cas blinked, looking back at him. "What's up with you?"

"I wonder..." Cas pursed his lips. "I wonder why Metatron chose me. He could have chosen any angel of seraph rank. He could have just as easily taken Naomi's, or dozens of other angels, for that matter. Why did he choose me?"

"I don't know," he told his friend honestly. "Maybe he's got it out for you. Maybe he's just a dick. Maybe it's 'cause you're kind of legendary upstairs. Could be anything."

Cas nodded dimly. "Yes, I suppose so." Dean frowned. Castiel was troubled, definitely. He was sure that he felt guilty over the angels being cast down from Heaven, but he shouldn't have blamed himself, not for this. They all thought Metatron was one of the good guys. Turns out he was just an embittered asshole.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," Dean said. "If we find Metatron, we'll shove an angel blade up his ass and show him that you don't mess with Team Free Will."

Cas tilted his head in that bird-like way of his. "You haven't called us Team Free Will in a number of years."

"Yeah, well, it's been awhile since we've really been a team, hasn't it?"

Cas went silent. He ducked his head slightly, a deep sorrow coloring his blue eyes. Dean sighed.

"Listen, Cas, there's been a lot of crap in the past few years. And don't think for a second that I ain't still pissed about it, but the fact is, you're my friend. You're family. Nothing's gonna change that. And with the way things are going, we've got to stick together."

Cas looked at him with something akin to gratefulness, and the way his shoulders sagged, as if he'd just been relieved of a burden. "Yeah..." Castiel tried to give him a smile, the first one he'd seen from the ex-angel in quite sometime. It was strained, but genuine. "Go team."

For the first time in days, Dean laughed.

* * *

Sam heard a knock on his door, and he raised his head as much as he could. His head throbbed mercilessly, and he'd already bloodied several tissues with his coughing fits since Dean had deposited him back in his room. He was still feeling the after effects of his most recent attack.

"Come in," he groaned, barely audible.

His door creaked open, and Crowley stepped into his room, hands in the pockets of his trousers, looking over him with something akin to concern. It was still strange to see that emotion on the demon's face. Actually, it was strange to see any emotion when it came to Crowley. "How're you doing, Moose?"

"Can't complain," he replied, slowly moving himself into a sitting position. Crowley scoffed.

"For someone who lies for a living, you're not particularly talented at it," Crowley commented, shutting the door behind him. "We need to talk."

"I'm not touching demon blood," he said immediately. "Especially not behind Dean's back." Although he hated feeling like this, hated being in pain and being bed-ridden, he wouldn't go back down that path. He couldn't.

"Don't get your knickers in a twist, I'll leave that alone. For now, at least. No, I'm talking about this connection. It's deeper than I originally thought."

Sam furrowed his brow. "What do you mean?" He was already puzzled by the fact that his attempt to cure Crowley had bound them together like this. Nothing like this had been documented in the Men of Letters files. Maybe it was because of the demon blood already flowing through Sam's veins thanks to Azazel, or because it was a part of the trials.

"I'm catching stray thoughts from you," Crowley said, crossing his arms and leaning casually against the wall. He eyed Sam, waiting for a reaction.

"Stray thoughts?" Sam repeated. Crowley was inside his head, now? He was feeling more than just emotions from him? "What do you mean, what did I think?"

"Various things. You were afraid that going on the demon blood would cause you to turn your back on Squirrel again. Then complaints about your current condition." Crowley played absent-mindedly with the bottom of his lip. "And so the plot thickens."

"I've been researching blood magic," Sam said. "Discretely. I mean, I don't want Dean or Cas asking questions. It's not that I want to hide this from them, but Dean's got enough on his mind..." He leaned back against his pillows, muffling a cough with his hand. He felt warm blood splatter against his skin. He grimaced. "Anyway, I haven't found anything that's like this. Sometimes rituals can be performed between black witches who already have psychic predispositions to open up a kind of mind bond, but there's never been anything like this, especially between a demon and a human."

"This is the first occurrence, so far as I can tell," Crowley said. "We need to be careful."

"Careful?" Sam echoed.

"We don't know all the repercussions of this. What if one of us dies, hmm?" the demon gestured towards him. "What if you bite it? Does it kill me? Or vice versa? This could be very, very bad. Especially for me, since you were born with an expiration date stamped on your foot, unlike yours truly."

"I think the connection would probably be broken if one of us died, at least that's what I can gather from the blood magic books we've got," Sam replied. He realized all too late that his was something he definitely shouldn't have told Crowley. Crowley arched an eyebrow, uncrossing his arms and stepping away from the wall.

"Oh?"

Sam put a hand on Ruby's knife, which was tucked into one of his belt loops. "Err, yeah."

There was a beat of silence before Crowley spoke.

"I'm not going to kill you," Crowley sighed. "I can't."

"Why not?" Sam asked, letting his curiosity get the best of him. He was surprised. Even with Crowley's humanity, he was still the King of Hell. If killing him would end the risk and agony that the trials posed, Sam was almost sure that Crowley would take the opportunity.

"Not completely sure," Crowley evaded, eyes darting away. "I'd blame it on the Moose juice running through my veins."

Sam suspected that it was something deeper than that, but decided not to dig, since Crowley didn't seem to want to continue with discussions of his newly attained humanity. He pursed his lips, waiting for the demon to continue.

"Are you hungry?"

The question caught him off guard. He was hungry, but his stomach was currently doing very unpleasant flips, and he wasn't sure what he would be able to keep down. He shrugged his large shoulders. "I am... I'm not sure what I can manage, though."

"Toast and soup probably wouldn't kill you," Crowley mused. "Hopefully Squirrel picked some up. I'll bring it to you when it's done." With that, the demon turned on his heel and strolled out of the room, leaving Sam blinking in surprise.

Crowley had been at his side consistently since he'd broken out of the dungeon early that morning. He'd wiped the sweat off of his forehead, he'd brought him a trash can, he'd... well, he'd taken care of him, just like Dean would have, and that fact alone threatened to blow his mind and his understanding of Crowley.

_"All those motels, and you never watched HBO? Not once? Girls? You're my Marnie, Moose! A-and Hannah, she just wants to be loved. She deserves it. Don't we all? You, me, we deserved to be loved! I deserved to be loved! I just want to be loved..."_

He needed to reevaluate Crowley. Who he was as a demon and who he was as a demon with humanity were two different ends of the spectrum, at least from what he'd seen thus far. Crowley was acting like he cared about Sam, and it was hard to believe that someone other than Dean and Cas cared whether he lived or died.

Crowley had emotions, Cas was human, he was bed-ridden. The angels had fallen and were waging war on the demons, with Earth as their battleground. Things were changing, and he didn't know how to keep up, especially with the trials slowly draining the life out of him.

He thumped his head back against his pillows, sighing heavily. He could only hope that they would be able to find Gabriel so he could get out of this damn bunker and _do_ something.

* * *

"Dean," Castiel spoke up, catching the hunter's attention. Dean looked up from his laptop, green eyes meeting his own. Since Castiel didn't know how to properly operate a computer, Dean had printed out recent newspapers from the bigger cities in the United States and asked him to scan through for strange happenings. Dean was researching online, trying to find signs of Gabriel.

While he'd been reading, a thought had occurred to him. He was intent on becoming a hunter, intent on trying to still be useful to Dean and Sam, to not be dead weight. Although he was skilled in hand-to-hand and melee combat, he didn't know his way around guns. He knew how to fire a shotgun, but other than that, he'd never used ranged weapons. He'd never had a reason to, after all. But now, he needed to learn how to shoot properly. It was imperitive.

"Yeah, Cas?"

"I believe that it would be practical for me to learn how to shoot," he told him, standing up from his chair. The two of them had been sitting across from each other at the large table in the foyer. "Would you be willing to teach me?"

Dean seemed surprised for a moment before he nodded. "Shit, yeah. I didn't think of that. You need to learn." He put a hand on the lid of his laptop, shutting it carefully. "Now's as good a time as ever, I guess. Come on."

Dean rose, leading Castiel to a staircase that led to a lower level of the bunker, obscured by a partition near the entrance to the kitchen. Dean thundered down the stairs, and Castiel tailed him down. He'd never seen this part of the bunker. Dean's hand fumbled along the side of the wall before he found a light switch. He flicked it upward with his thumb, illuminating the room that Castiel quickly realized was an indoor firing range.

A steel table was off to the side, with a veritable armory of spare weapons piled on it, with a shelf underneath the table holding boxes of ammunition. Dean made his way over, rifling through the handguns that were gathered there. He would pick up each one separately, run a hand along the barrel, take out the magazine and look it over. He did this five times, eventually shaking his head and placing each one back on the table.

Finally, he picked up the sixth pistol, testing it in his hand. His lip curled in an almost smile, and he promptly handed the handgun to Castiel. "There you go. Griffon 1911 combat issue. Anything comes within thirty feet of you, you're good. It's lightweight, good for someone who's new to handguns. It reloads easy and it's accurate as all hell, not to mention the recoil isn't bad. Grip's comfortable, too."

Castiel gripped the gun in his hand, raising it in front of him and eyeing down the sight as he had seen Dean do many times. Dean was right, it was lightweight and fit his hands well. "Yes. This will work."

Next, Dean showed him how to load and reload the gun. He instructed him on the different parts of the weapon, explaining their purpose. Castiel learned quickly. Even with his brain power reduced dramatically by his human state, he was still a quick study, something he was incredibly grateful for, as there was much he needed to learn as a human.

It was well into the late evening when Dean finally let Castiel test his accuracy on the range. From behind the barrier, he aimed at the target about fifteen feet away. He fired six rounds. Three missed, but the other three hit the outer circle of the target. The recoil surprised him slightly, but he kept his grip on the weapon tight.

"Not bad for your first time. Next time, though, don't let your arms slack after the first bullet. You gotta keep 'em straight and rigid. It'll help with the recoil, too."

Castiel nodded mutely. For the next several hours, he practiced, putting all of his focus and energy into the single-minded task of hitting the bull's eye. He began to get somewhat frustrated when he wasn't able to do so, even after several hours. When the digital clock on the wall struck midnight, Dean laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Cas, man, we need to sleep," he said. Castiel jumped slightly from the contact. His ears were ringing from the continuous gunfire. "We can pick this back up tomorrow, okay? You're doing great."

"I've yet to hit the bull's eye," Castiel pointed out in a disappointed tone. Dean eased the gun out of his hands and placed it back on the steel table.

"It's only your first time, dude. You'll get better." Dean nodded towards the staircase. "You can bunk in my room again, if you want. Or you can give sleeping on your own a shot."

Castiel fiddled nervously with the edge of his tie. He'd slept peacefully next to Dean. He was afraid that if he tried to sleep alone again that he might have nightmares, and just the thought of the ones he had last night made him shudder. "I... would prefer to sleep with you."

Dean winced at his wording, for some reason. "Okay."

The two of them made their way upstairs. They headed to the bathroom, where Dean removed Castiel's new toothbrush from the packaging and handed it to him. Dean took his own, squirted tooth paste along the brush, and instructed Castiel to follow his lead because according to the hunter his breath was supposedly starting to smell like ass. Castiel was still unsure of what exactly ass smelled like.

Castiel carefully replicated Dean's actions, alternating between brushing, spitting, and gargling. When they were finished, his mouth felt fresh and pleasant. Dean told him to smile at the mirror. Castiel did so, and saw that his teeth were bright white. Dean smirked.

"You're learning."

After that, the two of them changed in their separate rooms into pajamas before meeting in Dean's bedroom. Dean set the alarm again, laid down with his head near the top of the bed this time, and promptly tugged the covers over himself. Castiel didn't get under the covers, but laid down on the bed next to Dean, letting his head sink into one of the pillows.

"Night, Cas," Dean murmured, half-asleep already.

Castiel watched him for a moment before closing his eyes, calm washing over him.

"Goodnight, Dean."


	12. A Bit of Devil

**Chapter 12 - A Bit of Devil**

_A/N: Thank you to EeveeLover141 and Queen of the Crossroads for their reviews! :D Let the chapter commence... _

* * *

Dean was awakened by "Shout It Out Loud" playing loudly nearby. He blinked rapidly, blearily identifying the sound as his ring tone. He felt around in the deep pocket of his sweat pants for his cell phone. He picked up the call, and the loud music ceased.

"'lo?" he muttered, almost inaudible.

"Dean!" He recognized the panicked voice. It sounded like Garth. He glanced at the clock. It was just shy of ten o'clock.

"Garth? What is it?"

"I just watched a good chunk of Cleveland get leveled," Garth replied, horrified. "Everything's just blown to pieces, flattened to the ground. There's nothing left... all the people..." Garth faltered. "Dean, I know you've seen the devil himself, but I don't think you've seen anything like _him_."

"Like who?" Dean asked, a pit growing in his stomach. He couldn't think of anything that could have the kind of juice to level a city like that, except for an archangel, and thank God none of those dicks were floating around at the moment.

"Xaphan. That's what the angels were screaming. Me and a bunch of other hunters, there were maybe twenty of us, we offered the angels our help. They turned us away, so we decided to try and flank the demons where they were hiding out, in the old warehouse district on the south side of the city. We're heading over there, and the demons are already in the street. There were human bodies everywhere man, just slaughtered. Then there's this light in the sky, right? The angels that were in the city, they suddenly appeared out of nowhere, all over the place. They looked up, the demons looked up. Then, the demons, they started just laughing, man. Laughing like it was the funniest thing they'd ever seen. Then the light, it just got bigger, and bigger, and then there was this screaming, terrible, awful screaming. I drove as fast as I could, tried to get away. My truck got blown about fifty feet from the aftershock. I was knocked out for a few hours, and I just woke up, and... and..." he heard the other hunter gulp. "Everything's gone, Dean. Everyone's dead. I'm the only one who made it," he finished, his voice dropping off.

Dean laid there, completely still for a long moment, trying to comprehend what Garth had just told him. Something strong enough to lay waste to five blocks, to kill hundreds of angels and dozens of humans? He thought Xaphan was just an angel, for Christ's sake! How did he have that kind of power? How was that even possible?

"And you're sure it was Xaphan? Hundred percent?"

"Yeah... yeah, hundred percent. You know what he is?"

"He's an angel. A fallen one, like Lucifer. He's bad news," Dean elucidated, carding a hand through his hair worriedly.

"There's gotta be some way to take him out... the kind of damage he could do... I don't even know how they're spinning this on the news. It's like a nuke went off." Garth's voice shook as he continued. "What are we gonna do, Dean?"

"What you're going to do is get the hell out of there. Are you hurt?"

"I... I don't know. I just came to." There was a pause on the other end. "I can't really feel my legs all that well."

He cursed softly. "Can you move?"

"I don't know!" Dean could hear the terror now, coming through loud and clear. "I'm bleeding. My head, it's bleeding bad, and my legs... they're pinned. Pinned under some blown up car." Another pause. "I can hear sirens comin'."

"Just hold tight, okay?" he told the other hunter, privately furious that he wasn't there to help Garth himself, that he was stuck hundreds of miles away, unable to do anything. "The paramedics will help you."

"I... everything's gettin' blurry, Dean."

"Garth! Come on, stay with me, man!" he yelled, and Cas murmured a sleepy sound of annoyance next to him.

"Can't... it's gettin' dark."

"GARTH!" The other end went silent, except for the wail of ambulance, police, and fire sirens echoing in the distance. "Son of a bitch," Dean said, teeth gritted. He felt anger welling up inside of him, and before he knew it, his phone was in pieces on the other side of the room. He didn't even remember throwing it. He scrambled over Cas, who was waking up now.

"Dean...?"

He slammed the door behind him, cutting off the former angel before he could say more. He ran into the foyer, turning on the large TV that sat in front of the couch. He quickly flipped to ZNN to catch the news. The image that filled the screen was that of wanton destruction. It was an aerial view of Cleveland, and a five block radius was reduced to nothing but a smoking crater. Black, charred, with copious amounts of acrid smoke choking the air above it.

He listened dimly to the news cast for a few minutes, hearing their tragically wrong theories about terrorist attacks, about Al Qaeda, about how this could mean another war in the Middle East, about how this made 9/11 look like a firecracker. It just made it worse that the families of everyone who died in the explosion would never know what had really happened to their loved ones. They'd never know it was some insane angel who apparently had way more juice than they'd ever imagined.

"Dean?" He turned, and Cas was standing by the coffee table, brow furrowed. He was fiddling with the side of the white t-shirt that he'd slept in anxiously. "Is something wrong?" Dean nodded stiffly. "Who were you on the phone with?"

"Garth," he managed, sinking down onto the couch. Cas hesitantly sat down next to him, looking concerned. Dean gestured helplessly at the television. Cas watched for a few moments, his pale blue eyes widening significantly once he seemed to have grasped what had happened.

"How?" was all that his friend said, gaze fixed on the television.

"Xaphan," Dean responded, jaw tightening. What kind of monster could do something like this? Even Lucifer hadn't brought this kind of thing to the table. Sure, he'd tried to turn the Earth into Zombieland, but he'd never just massacred hundreds of angels and humans because he _could_. This was a kind of enemy they'd never dealt with before.

"Impossible," Cas replied with a shake of his head. "Only an archangel would have this kind of power, and even then, doing something of this level would be a stretch of their capabilities."

"Yeah, well," Dean hit the off button on the remote, and the screen went black. "The proof's staring us right in the face. He got a power boost somehow. And it's a pretty friggin' big one." Dean sighed, putting his head in his hands. "What the hell are we gonna do, Cas?"

Cas was silent for almost a minute before he spoke. "When I... after I opened Purgatory, I massacred thousands of my brothers and sisters. Everyone that sided with Raphael died by my hand."

Dean looked up in surprise. Cas almost never talked about or referenced when he'd made himself the new God. It was a sore spot for all of them, and he knew that the guilt still privately tortured the ex-angel. He remembered when Naomi had first brought Castiel out of Purgatory, when he'd told Dean that he feared that if he returned to Heaven, he would kill himself. That was one conversation he wished that he could forget. A knife twisted in his chest just thinking about it.

He waited to see why Castiel had brought it up. The ex-angel's eyes darkened as he lowered his head. "Those who guarded the angel prison sided with Raphael. I killed every last one. The only ones who knew where the prison was, how to release the angels imprisoned there, were the guards. The secret of how to open and close Xaphan's Cage died with them."

Dean closed his eyes, letting out a deep side. Cas' actions from years ago were still bringing about ramifications, even now. He restrained himself from getting upset with the angel, because he knew at this point that it would accomplish nothing. But damn it, he was angry, and he was looking for something, anything to take it out on.

"But there is someone left who may know."

Dean arched an eyebrow, surprised. "Who?"

"Heaven's gardener, the only one who God spoke to," Castiel replied. "Joshua."

* * *

Sam felt a hand on his shoulder. It shook him slightly. "Hey, wake up." He groaned, not wanting to move from his comfortable bed. The hand shook him harder. "Oi, Moose, come on." Reluctantly, Sam opened his eyes.

Crowley was leaning over him, watching him carefully. He withdrew so Sam could sit up. Sam's eyes went to the digital clock on his night stand. It was a quarter to eleven. "What's up?" Sam asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"There's news," Crowley explained. "Bad news. Squirrel and Kitten are waiting in the kitchen." Crowley eyed him for a long moment. "Can you walk on your own?"

He honestly wasn't sure. He threw his legs over the side of the bed. Carefully, he stood up. Crowley moved so that if Sam were to fall, he could catch him. Sam's legs shook badly, but he was pretty sure that he could make it to the kitchen if he walked at a mellow enough pace.

Sam cautiously walked out of his bedroom, Crowley following close behind. He distantly wondered what the demon king had been up to while the rest of the bunker's inhabitants had been asleep. They made their way to the kitchen, where Cas and Dean were seated at the table next to each other, both nursing a cup of coffee. Dean glanced up when Sam walked in.

"Morning, Sammy," his older brother greeted. "How you doing?"

Sam shrugged. "Okay." Dean didn't look convinced.

If he answered honestly, it would worry Dean too much. Because truthfully, he felt like he was going to collapse just from the energy he'd expanded walking twenty feet. His head felt like it was going to explode, and he was so friggin' _hot_. Sweat beaded on his brow, and he could feel droplets trailing down his forehead.

"So, what's happened?" Sam said, changing the subject before Dean pressed him further. He sat down across from his brother. Crowley stood behind Sam slightly, crossing his arms and seeming to have no intention of taking a seat as well.

"Xaphan destroyed a five-block radius of Cleveland, killed a bunch of hunters, civilians, and angels, and probably Garth. He's got archangel levels of juice."

Sam blinked in shock. "Are you serious?"

Dean nodded, grimacing into his coffee. "Dead serious. But we might be able to find someone who knows how to lock this douche bag in the Cage he came out of."

"Who?" Sam asked. His mind was whirling - another archangel on their hands? It was a hell of a time trying to get rid of Lucifer, Michael, and Raphael. How were they supposed to deal with another one when they didn't even have an angelfied Castiel on their side?

"Joshua," Cas provided. "You met him while you were in Heaven."

Sam nodded, the memory coming back to him. "The gardener who talks to God?" Cas nodded. "Do we have any idea where he might be?"

"Wherever he is, he would not be with the angel forces amassing on Earth. From what I know of Joshua, it's likely that he's abstained from fighting. He's well-respected among the angels. I doubt they would pursue him further if he didn't wish to participate in their war," Cas explained.

"So, no," Crowley tacked on. "You don't know where Joshua is."

Castiel shook his head. "No."

"Well, we've got to find him," Sam said decisively. "That's priority number one. The amount of damage Xaphan could do, he could kill thousands of people."

"And here comes the fun part," Crowley muttered, almost too quietly to hear.

"Actually, it's priority number two," Dean responded before draining the last dregs of his cup. "Priority number one is still Gabriel."

"What?" Sam burst out. "Dean, we can put that to the side for now, we've got to go after Joshua!"

"Getting you better takes precedence over everything," Dean stated in a way that said this wasn't up for debate. Usually, Sam would have backed off, but this was not something he could stand for. Thanks to Dean's concern for him, they'd already failed to shut the gates of Hell. They couldn't let Xaphan wipe out as many innocents as he wanted just because Sam was sick.

"No, no, it doesn't!" Sam protested, voice rising. "We have to think about the greater good. We can't just drop everything until I'm fixed."

"Well, that's too bad, because that's exactly what we're going to do," Dean replied evenly. Sam couldn't believe how apathetic his brother was acting. How could he do this? Be so selfish? Damn the whole world, as long as his little brother got better. He was making the same stupid mistakes he'd been making since they were kids, sacrificing anything and everything just so that Sam would be okay.

Sam clenched his hands into fists, just wishing that for once, he was able to take care of himself. He wished that Dean wouldn't have to choose between doing what would help Sam and doing the right thing. He damned himself for not completing the final demon trial. He should've disregarded Dean and finished curing Crowley. Yes, he would've died, but he was starting to think that he would've rather died than having to be sidelined because of his illness and watching the world slowly fall apart because of his decisions.

"You can't do this, Dean. This guy, Xaphan, he sounds like he's on the same level as Lucifer. He has to be stopped."

"And he will be," Dean agreed. "Once you're better."

Unable to stop himself, Sam slammed his fist down on the table. "Will you stop being such an idiot about this?" Castiel looked awkward, and Crowley looked irritated as Dean shoved himself out of his seat, glaring down at his younger brother.

"I told you back in Erie, nothing goes above you, Sam. Got that? Nothing. I'm gonna fix you, okay? Just believe that. We're gonna find Gabriel, and he'll fix you, and then maybe we can convince him to fight Xaphan, and we won't even need to hunt down Joshua. Just trust me."

"This isn't about trust, Dean!" Sam yelled. "This is about innocent people dying!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Crowley massage his chest with a wince. He must have been catching the shock of Sam's emotions. He pitied the demon, but he wasn't about to calm down.

"Sam, this isn't a discussion, this is _not_ up for debate," Dean said. "We're finding Gabriel and we're gonna make the son of a bitch heal you. I know you're a little old for this, but I'm pulling the big brother card. This is what we're doing, like it or don't, I don't care." With that, Dean roughly pushed in his chair and exited the room, tension radiating off of him.

Sam wanted to follow after his brother, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to catch up without collapsing. He rose slowly, trying to think of what to do next, trying to think through the fog of rage in his mind.

"Sam," Cas said carefully, looking up at him. "Dean has your best interests at heart. Please, don't be angry with him."

"Easier said than done," he growled, making his way out of the room. He heard Dean's footsteps thumping down the stairs to the subbasement. Target practice, most likely. Sam knew that he couldn't manage the stairs, so he'd have to corner Dean about this later.

He decided to just go back to his bed and lay down. That seemed to be all that he was good for nowadays, anyway.


	13. Unwell

**Chapter 13 - Unwell**

_A/N: Thank you to twolittlewords for their review! I have to say, season nine is definitely not going the way I expected... tonight's episode was great though, even if canon has gone so far off from what I predicted (which is good, because otherwise this fic would be kind of boring). By the way, does anyone know what was up with Crowley at the end? Was that Kevin's blood he was injecting himself with?_

* * *

Crowley debated on going after one of the Winchesters, but decided to let the two of them simmer for now. Sam was too angry to be reasoned with at the moment, and Dean wouldn't listen to Crowley on his happiest days, so it seemed a fruitless endeavor. Crowley sighed as he leaned back against the counter. Castiel still sat at the kitchen table, sipping at his drink. He seemed forlorn.

"What's wrong with you, Sparkles?" he asked, using the almost forgotten nickname for the former angel. Castiel lifted his head, pale blue eyes looking unusually dull. He just shook his head, not responding. Crowley sighed.

"Come on. It's not like you haven't confided in me before," he said, arching a pointed eyebrow at the ex-angel. During their partnership, he and Castiel had been around each other enough that they had developed something that was the closest thing Crowley had ever had to a friendship since his days as a human. Their conversations, on occasion, had strayed into personal territory, at least on Castiel's side. Generally his feelings of guilt regarding his duplicity with the Winchesters.

Castiel frowned, not seeming pleased to be reminded of the memory, but after a moment of contemplative silence, he spoke. "Metatron may have been the one who pulled the trigger," he began. "But I am the one who handed him the gun."

Crowley tilted his head, watching as he saw the guilt claim the former angel's face. His jaw tensed, and with the way he was looking pointedly away from Crowley, he'd hedge a bet that he was trying to hide wetness in his eyes.

"Ah," was Crowley's first response. "Taking on Squirrel's habit of blaming himself for everything that goes wrong in the world, then?"

Castiel lifted his head to stare at Crowley, and the demon could see it now: Castiel's eyes were indeed glistening. Poor, broken Castiel. The compassion Crowley felt for him was foreign and unwelcome, and it burned unpleasantly in his chest, but it also motivated him to say more.

"If not you, then another angel," Crowley explained further. "You're not that special, mate. You may have been God for a bit, but that spell would've worked with any seraph's Grace."

"I helped him," Castiel argued. "He fooled me into thinking the components of the spell were the angel trials. I believed his lies. I believed that the angels would be shut in Heaven, not the other way around. Because of that, everything is in jeopardy."

"Then do something about it," Crowley replied.

He didn't rightly know why Castiel's guilt frustrated him so much. Castiel, above all, had always tried to do the right, tried to help people. Road to Hell and all that, yes, his good intentions had eventually led to disaster, but the fact was that he had _tried_. Because that's what Cas and the Winchesters did. They _tried_. And that should count for something, damn it. It should. It shouldn't mean that they'd all drown in their own guilt. It should be mean that they felt good, good that they tried to make things better.

Castiel said nothing, just stared down at his hands. Crowley tipped up the angel's chin, and although Cas tensed, he didn't pull away. "You hear me?" he asked rhetorically. "Go down there to your knight in shining denim, pick up a gun, and shoot. Learn to be human. And then, when you're good enough, you fight. You fight until things get better or you die trying. Sitting here, feeling sorry? Feeling like dirt? It's not going to do a damn thing for you, for Moose and Squirrel, for the world. Not one damn thing."

A long moment passed where Castiel just stared at him with unabashed shock, and Crowley stared back, almost defiantly. Finally, Cas spoke. "You have changed." Crowley grimaced. _And how. _He dropped his hand, backing away to give the ex-angel room to stand, which he did. "Sam may not have cured you, but you... you're not the demon that I met five years ago. You seem almost-"

Crowley lifted his hand, cutting Castiel off. "Please. Don't say it."

Castiel's brow furrowed, but he nodded. He brushed past Crowley and out of the room. He heard foot steps leading down to the subbasement, and he allowed himself a smirk. Poor bastard was still too easy to manipulate. At least this time, Crowley was manipulating him into doing the right thing, not the wrong thing.

Crowley decided to make Sam some lunch, since the Winchester didn't seem capable of doing much else other than laying in sweaty agony at the moment. However, as he busied himself in the kitchen, Castiel's words continued to ring through his head. _Changes..._

Fifteen minutes later, he entered Sam's room after a knock. Wordlessly, he set a tray down on Sam's bed. Ramen noodles, toast, and a pitcher of tea. Not five stars, but it was good enough for someone who was barely able to hold down their food. Sam looked up from a thick tome, eyes landing on the food, then sliding back to him. He set the book to the side, taking the tray onto his lap with trembling hands.

"Thanks," he said, taking a testing bite of the toast. Crowley didn't respond, instead picking up the book Sam had just set to the side. _Intricacies of Blood Magicks. Hmph. The Men of Letters certainly had one hell of a library. _He sank down on the edge of Sam's bed, paging through it as Sam slowly made his way through his meal.

"Earlier," Sam said finally, painfully swallowing a bit of tea. "When Dean and I were fighting. How much of what I was feeling did you catch?"

"Too much," he responded. "Thoughts, emotions, the whole nine yards. The crappier you feel, the more of an open channel I get to Sam Land." He shook his head slightly, flipping to the next page. "I don't know why you feel so useless. It's not as if it's your fault that you're dying."

He realized that he probably could have phrased his last sentence better when he saw Sam flinch. He wasn't really the kind to soften things, humanity or not. "I should be dead," Sam replied, his words almost inaudible. "I shouldn't have let Dean stop me. I should've gone through with the trials and cured you."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I'm jumping for goddamn joy that you're alive... if you'd cured me, I would've hung myself the minute I found a long enough rope."

Sam seemed stunned by the confession. "Wait, what?"

Crowley nodded, slamming the book shut with a grimace. He didn't really feel like getting heart to heart with jolly green at the moment, but if it would stop the self-pitying misery coursing through their damned blood connection, then so be it.

"As it is now, I feel like I'm being torn apart from the inside out between my guilt and your bloody emotions. I've got a demonic essence that's been half converted back into a human soul, and it's practically eating itself alive. The one consolation I have is that I still have my powers. I'm still a demon, and I still rule Hell. I'm still me, even though I'm handicapped. If you'd stripped away everything... I'd be a husk. The Gates of Hell would've been closed... I wouldn't have seen any point in going on."

Sam stared at him in a shocked silence for a few moments before licking his lips and running a hand through his hair. "I... don't really know what to say to that, Crowley."

"You don't have to say anything," the demon replied. "Just stop feeling so guilty before I drown in it as well."

* * *

The rest of the day passed by without much event. After his fight with Sam that morning, Dean retreated to the subbasement for as much privacy as he could get. A few minutes later, Castiel had appeared at his side - not literally appeared for once, but he'd come down to see him. Cas hadn't pressed him to talk about his fight with Sam, and he was glad for that. God, he hated arguing with his little brother. He hated it more than anything in the entire world.

Objectively, yeah, prioritizing Gabriel over Joshua was a selfish move. But he didn't give a damn about being rational. He meant what he had said to Sam back at the chapel. Sam came before everything. Until he was on the mend, they're mission was to get him better. No arguments. He was at least grateful for the fact that Castiel and Crowley hadn't taken a side in the fight. If either of them had someone to back him up, it would've been even worse.

Cas had requested further practice on the range, and Dean had accommodated him. His friend was picking up fire arms well enough. His hands shook badly, which impacted his accuracy, but other than that he was doing surprisingly well. He was hitting the target every time, and it had even got within a few inches of the bull's eye a few times. Dean quietly instructed him, watching him carefully to see where he could improve.

It reminded him of when he had taught Sammy how to shoot when he was younger. It was nostalgic, maybe even comforting. Things had gone straight to hell, the world could be ending all over again, but at least he could do something here. He could teach Cas how to shoot, how to be human, and that was something. In the grand scheme of things, barely anything, but that was still more than nothing.

He had heard Crowley banging around in the kitchen, and supposed that the demon was making his brother lunch. He was surprised, even though he supposed that he shouldn't have been at that point. He wasn't sure how to feel about the effects of Crowley's humanity. The demon was getting protective over Sam. On one hand, it was nice to have someone other than himself and Cas watching Sam's back. On the other hand, it was fucking Crowley, and when demons started getting friendly, he got nervous. He did not want a repeat of the Ruby incident.

He knew that logically, it was obvious Crowley had regained at least a portion of humanity. But that didn't mean he wasn't still dangerous. He needed to figure out the King of Hell's true motives so he could put his mind at ease.

Around three, Cas managed to get six bullets in the zone closest to the bulls-eye. The ex-angel smiled a tentative smile, lowering his weapon. Dean clapped him on the shoulder in what he hoped was an encouraging gesture.

"You're doing good, man," he said. "Just practice for an hour or so when you get a chance, and you'll be a regular marksman soon enough." Cas would never be able to shoot like himself or Sam, who had their entire lives of running and gunning behind them, but with enough practice, he'd still be an excellent shot.

They made their way back upstairs. Dean glanced around. There was no sign of Sam or Crowley. Worriedly, he went to his brother's door, even though he was aware that Sam might still be angry with him. He knocked, and was relieved when he heard Sam's hoarse voice call from within, "Come in."

He opened up the door, poking his head into the room. Sam was curled up on his side. When he heard the door, he turned to look at Dean. There was an awkward moment where neither of them said anything. "Hey," Sam finally muttered.

"Hey."

"...is there something you needed?" Sam asked, looking at him with fevered eyes.

"Just wanted to know if you wanted some dinner. And whether you want it or not, I'm getting you some ice packs." He paced forward, raising his hand and placing it on his brother's forehead. It was sticky with sweat. "Shit, Sammy, you must be 101, 102."

Sam leaned away from him. "I noticed."

Dean strode out of the room, heading to the kitchen. He filled up a plastic sandwich bag full of ice before wrapping it with a towel. He returned to Sam's room and offered it to him. Sam took it before laying back down and letting the bag rest across his forehead. He sighed.

"Better?"

"Yeah."

"Sammy..."

"Just don't, Dean," Sam cut him off. "I know why you're doing this. You don't have to explain yourself, and you're not going to change my mind and I'm not going to be able to change yours." He closed his eyes with a sigh. "I'm too tired to fight anymore."

The way his little brother said it, the resignation in his tone, it killed him a little bit. He didn't care what he had to do, he would find Gabriel and make him heal Sammy. He didn't care if he had to go up against an archangel, he was going to make Sam better. Watching him... watching him _die_, God, he couldn't do it. He just couldn't.

"Just trust me, alright? Like I told you, everything's gonna be okay. It's just gonna take a little time," he assured. He wished Sam was still young enough to believe him when he said things like that.

"I don't really have a little time," Sam said bluntly. "But you know that. We all know that."

Dean wanted to argue, but he knew that he couldn't. With how quickly Sam was degenerating, it wasn't likely that he would make it through the summer. And as that thought crossed his mind, he could almost feel something inside of him break. Questions he didn't want to answer came to mind. What would he do if Sammy did die? Could a Crossroads deal save his brother? Would he be willing to give Sam demon blood if it meant saving him?

His throat constricted, and he felt heat in his eyes, and he turned away from his brother, not wanting Sam to see the slowly spreading cracks in his strength. He cleared his throat, trying to calm himself. "So, uh, dinner? I'll cook you something."

"No need for that," a voice said from behind him. He jumped in spite of himself, turning to see Crowley standing with two pizza boxes balanced on his palm. The demon smirked. "Pizza fresh from Palermo. Dinner's on me."

"How the hell did you-" Dean began, but Sam cut across him.

"I, uh... I may have let him out of his handcuffs earlier," Sam admitted. Dean whirled, turning on his little brother in a mixture of anger and shock. In what world was letting Crowley out of his chains a good idea? Sam read the expression on his face with a frown. "Dean, if he was going to kill us, he would've by now. And we can't keep him locked here forever. If he leaves Hell, that leaves room for Abaddon to take over." He gave Dean a serious look. "Better the devil you know, right?"

Dean grimaced. "Better no devil at all," he said, glaring at Crowley with open distrust. The Crowley regarded him with cool disinterest, proffering the pizza again.

"If you don't want it, I'm sure some homeless shelter would appreciate it," the demon said. Dean eyed the pizza suspiciously. Crowley rolled his eyes. "If I was going to kill you, it wouldn't be poison, mate. It'd be far more creative than that." Dean snorted. Yeah, he could believe that much.

"So, what, you're back to normal? Been zapping all over the place?"

Crowley nodded. He blinked out for a moment, and before Dean even had a chance to call his name in frustration, the demon was back, this time empty-handed. "Been testing them out all day. I'm fit as a fiddle, I'll be ready to return to home sweet Hell as early as tomorrow morning, once I check in at my compound on Earth and see what the devil my flunkies are doing picking a fight with the angels."

"Why not just leave now?" Dean asked, not caring if he sounded rude. Crowley narrowed his eyes, glancing sideways at Sam for a split second, so brief that Dean thought he might have imagined it.

"Hell's a long way off. Different plane of existence. I'm almost there, but not quite. By breakfast time tomorrow, I'll be ready to return."

Dean watched him carefully for a moment. "And you think we're just gonna let you waltz out of here, simple as that?"

Crowley tilted his head, arching an eyebrow at Dean. "Funny, I've been getting the feeling you didn't want me around."

"You've been trying to kill us and everyone we care about for the past year-"

"Yes, and I've been around you for the past four days and haven't made any attempts on your life, Sam's, Castiel's, or Kevin's. Haven't laid a hand on any of you, have I?"

"Doesn't mean you won't be after us again as soon as you're out of here," Dean argued.

"Do you think the stupid act is cute, or is that just your natural personality shining through?" Crowley snapped. Before Dean could retaliate, Crowley continued. "You're not out to shut the gates, so I'm not out for your necks. Simple as that. And darling, I'm the King of the Hell. I can't just waltz out of the kingdom and go on a little vacation with you lot, hmm? Trust me, with Abaddon and Xaphan running around, you're going to want me down in Hell to make sure the black eyed little bastards stay in their proper place."

"You think Abaddon's gonna make a grab for the throne?" he asked, worry creeping into his voice. He was still kicking himself in the ass for letting the Knight of Hell escape in the first place.

"I don't think, I know. I'd stake my reputation on it. She's uppity, not happy with my impeccable leadership. She needs to be taken care of." His expression turned dangerous for a moment, and he was reminded of the Crowley he was used to dealing with - the sadistic, power hungry, violent one. "Little whore tried to _kill_ me... I don't like it when people try to kill me."


End file.
